Under Any Circumstances
by SlushieSushi
Summary: When Francis woke up at the cold dawn of March the twenty fifth by one livid phone call, courtesy of a certain red eyed albino, he knew, from the bottom pits of his stomach, that it was going to be a bad day. Then one thing led to another, then another, and then another...But how in the world did he end up with that cynical Englishman, not to mention his hideous eyebrows. FrUk!AU.
1. Chapter 1

**I do have a knack for rewriting till I'm satisfied, plus the plot is changing a bit, so bear with meh…**

 **Disclaimer: I WILL NEVER own Axis Powers Hetalia since I am not supreme overlord Himaruya Hidekaz...**

* * *

Soft snores echoed throughout the spacious room as the figure of the bed rolled in his fitful sleep. Clad in nothing but a plain red boxer, he unconsciously snuggled into his dark maroon duvet in search of comforting warmth. The man was lean and muscled, with long luscious honey golden hair in curls, blessed with sharp features of a Frenchman, a small golden stubble decorated his sharp chin, and royal blue eyes hidden behind his closed eyelids.

Francis Roux- Bonneyfoi, a young man of twenty three, who might have the perfect features and used them to his advantage. Originally, when he was younger, he had wore a long tunic that resembles a dress. But times pass, he began to grow a stubble that was not too 'scruffy' he would say. Having an undeniable flare and incredible talent for cooking and baking, he was immediately offered the role of president at the cooking and economics club at high school and needless to say was now a head chef at an iconic restaurant at the heart of the capital. As a grown man, he loves to fool around, dating women with beautiful features and alluring bodies, not really caring for the personality- as Gilbert would say, his flaw- but he like women who was cool but passionate. But he was a bisexual man, though keeping it as a secret most of the time.

It was a nice and breezy dawn that had greeted _Ville-d'Avray_ , a nice and quaint town in Central Northern France, just forty minutes or so away from the world famous and iconic capital, Paris. Graced with surrounding green forest and pristine lakes, it has been a perfect haven for Francis – the sleeping figure - and for his little puppy, a darling little white poodle, that has been given to him by his little cousin, Mathieu for his 23rd birthday bought by his summer allowance.

Mathieu was this little sweet twelve year old kid, with purplish blue eyes that are usually sparkling with kindness and affection and is hidden by round glasses, with slightly long golden hair that slightly bounce when he would laugh. After loosing his parents like Francis had when he was nineteen years old, Francis had took it upon himself to raise Mathieu. Now living together in the suburbs while the capital only kilometers away, it was not that hard on supporting his little cousin.

Loosing parents were one of the hardest things anyone could ever experience. It was a cold September day when it happened, he was at home while his parents had a devastating car crash along with his uncle Dean and aunt Willow – Mathieu's parents - had been with his parents, at the same car trip planning to go to Marseille for business.

Mathieu had been nine years old around that time, he was so innocent and carefree, wondering if when his parents would return. When Francis broke the news, it left the poor child silent, barely speaking for at least a year, always staying by Francis' side, not letting anyone near him. It broke his heart just to see Mathieu to be just a shell of a previously happy and smiling child, so vowed himself of not to hurt Mathieu more. He took it upon himself to raise his little cousin like his own son, even though he is a tad bit too young.

Juillet, his little poodle puppy, was now sleeping fitfully at the corner of his bedroom on a fluff of blankets. Francis, once again, rolled in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible. Snoring lightly, he let out a sigh of content as he revels in peaceful silence save for the occasional chirping of robins nestled out of his window.

 _Allons enfants de la Patrie,_

 _Le jour de gloire est arrivé!_

 _Contre nous de la tyrannie,_

 _L'étendard sanglant-_

Groaning at the disturbance, he reached out for his mobile phone at his bedside table, narrowly missing on smacking the lamp. He felt the phone buzzing and vibrating at the awaiting call, he glanced at the digital alarm clock on his dresser. 3:21 am in red light pierced through the darkness, registering at the ungodly hour, he scowled in annoyance.

"Bonjour, do you know what the hell the tim-"

" _You're the one to fucking talk, you retarded bastard!_ " Francis sighed at the familiar voice.

"Gil, what is it? Do you know what time it is?"

" _Oh I know the about the time perfectly._ " Francis shivered at how cold his best friend's voice is. " _But clearly you don't._ "

"Of course I do. It's _3:23 am_ in the morning, nonetheless." Francis responded, not clearly seeing where this is going.

" _Well, didn't you have something to do at 1:00 am?_ " Gilbert said icily, and with that the call ended.

The call left Francis bewildered and confused to say the least. _1:00 am_? What was he supposed to do at _1:00 am_? What date is today anyway?

He glanced at the calendar on his bedside table by the lamp. He felt his blood draining from his face, his cerulean eyes widen in fear.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

 _Oh shit._

March 15

He shot up, desperately peeling off the bedsheets, stumbling off to his bathroom, taking a quick shower, for God sakes, he didn't even apply his third conditioner. Careful enough not to slip off on the slick marble floor, he quickly brushed off the tangles and hurriedly put on his cologne, he stumbled out of the bath with his thick white towel clinging to his torso. Quickly changing into a wine red dress shirt and a pair of tight beige slacks, _inhumanly_ putting on his dress shoes and his leather belt at the same time.

Practically running to the kitchen downstairs, he quickly put a small and sustainable quantity of dog food on Juillet's bowl, petting the puppy, he quickly scribbled down a note, leaving at the kitchen counter where the maple syrup is, telling Mathieu not to worry, he was just picking up Uncle Gil from the airport and will be back by nine.

Risking a glance at the ticking wall clock above the doorway to the hallway, he felt he was better off being dead. Might as well drive off a fucking cliff.

 _4:03 am._

An hour has almost pass, since Gil had ' _called_ ' him. Surely by now, if he has not terrorized the entire airport, the best scenario would have been a loss of life, particularly his. The last time when he saw Gilbert this mad was when at high school, Francis, Gilbert and Antonio -now at Spain, they have lost contact with each other for some stupid ass reason that Francis can't comprehend- were seniors while Ludwig was a sophomore. Ludwig was bullied for being ' _too_ ' muscular and for hanging out with Feliciano and Kiku, who were his exact opposites, in short words, he was bullied for being _different_.

When Gilbert caught the whiff of the news, he interrogated Feliciano and Kiku to those who exactly bullied him, and its safe to say that those 'unfortunate' ones shown up to school with a black eye, a swollen jaw, and a traumatizing memory of Gilbert standing over them, smiling a cold smile and undaunted rage in his eyes.

Its an understatement that Gilbert loves his brother.

Gilbert has platinum blond hair with his 'stylish' asymmetrical bangs that would sometimes cover his ruby eyes- that would either flash in anger or gleam in undaunted mischief. His prominent feature would be that he was an albino, pale skin tone and silver like tresses would make him stand out from the crowd, towering for over 5'10. One would say that he was arrogant and had a 'world size' ego, had a rough personality that would irritate others, but he knew, Ludwig knew, Antonio knew, Elizaveta knew that he has a mind of a soldier; he is punctual, gifted methodically, very persistent- his daily and sacred diary entries were living proof- he was strong willed and stubborn. But he had a fond of cute things such as his pet bird, Gilbird and the stuffed panda that their former schoolmates and friends Wang Yao and Leon Wang- both were siblings, with Yao older with two years ahead - at a Christmas party exchange.

He had a tough exterior, it was all a facade to hide. Not everyone knew that.

.

Francis literally threw open the door of his car, panicky drove off the driveway and speed off into the night, his life was on the line, it does not help when he lives practically nine miles away from Paris, more importantly the Aéroport de Paris-Charles-de-Gaulle.

After a thirty minute drive full of speeding and wistful thinking of death, which was a record for anyone. Turning a sharp right, narrowly dodging another car, he cursed and continued speeding down the Autoroute du Norde highway. After minutes of tantalizing driving, he finally arrived at the airport.

He knew he was being paranoid, but he could seriously picture the airport would burst into flames, blood curling screams of terror could be heard and at the entrance would be Gilbert looking directly at him, wielding a baton -probably he got it from a dead officer he had killed, deciding to use it on him- looking sadistic as hell. But much to his relief – or distress, he don't know anymore – he found the international airport looking just fine, standing in all of it's glory. There were no horrific screams were heard, there were no blood stained pavement, there were no cold corpses littered around in demonic doing, and _more importantly_ , there is no Gilbert at the entrance staring hard and smiling maniacally.

While looking for a parking area, trying to be slow, as if attempting to delay his supposedly expected and inevitable demise. But then again, luck was not on his side, cars were honking loudly, screaming profanities and death threats for him to get a move on, violently forcing him to hurry up. And of course, unfortunately, there was an empty and free parking space by the fucking entrance. Was this lady luck's some sort of sick revenge for something? Or just to get a laugh out of it.

' _Oh well, there's no use of turning back now_.' He thought to himself. Praying to God, asking to forgive his sins, and a chance for passage through the divine pearly gates and into heaven. He resigned to himself that 'Well there's no use of turning back now' he thought to himself.

"Au revoir, the beautiful moi." He said out loud to himself while facing the mirror, giving it a little kiss, leaving a fogged mirror at its wake.

Slipping out of his car, he trudged towards the damned entrance slowly. Francis could feel that every step was getting heavier, inhaling air for his nerves to calm down. He looked around the sea of people, full of amazed and excited foreigners and waiting and wondering locals. On his tippy toes, scanning for a mop of eye-catching and familiar snow white hair of his best friend.

"Oh there you are. _You're late_." A heavily German accented said coldly from behind. Francis gulped, preparing himself for the earful of lecture and profanity. But it was his mistake, he had forgotten, that's all. But he knew of Gilbert's insecurities and fears, it made Gilbert unreasonable.

" _Oui, mon ami_ , I know, please forg-"

"Don't ' _mon ami_ ' me, Francis. Do you know how long I waited for your sorry ass to show up?!" Gilbert shouted, his fists were clenched white.

"Gil, I kno-"

"Pray tell me, Francis, how _many_ hours has passed?" Gil asked coldly, gritting his teeth.

"Four hours and more." Francis answered in a small voice.

" _Exactly_." Gilbert said in a calm and deadly voice. "You better drive me to the nearest _La Vie Claire_ 's right now or else."

"Like right now?" Francis asked in a smaller voice, fear coloring his tone.

" ** _NOW_!** "

Needless to say, Francis hauled the luggage into his awaiting car in record speed fueled by fear of death by Gilbert.

* * *

 **Translations and Notes:**

Bonjour- hello (French)

Juillet- July (French) the reason why I named the little puppy 'July' since his (France's) 'birthday' is at July the fourteenth or internationally known as Bastille Day.

Oui, mon ami- yes, my friend (French)

Ville-d'Avray- a town at northern-central France.

La Vie Claire- a convenience store franchise at Paris, France.

 **Edit: I added their personalities based from HetaWiki, I wanted it as canon as possible**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: Foul language and other ships(PruHun, Spamano) In fact I'm neutral in all pairings except for FrUk, so I choose these pairings because one, I kinda like them, and two, for Pruhun, I did the ' _Charlie, Charlie are you here?'_ game with the pencil choosing PruHun over RusPrus and AusPrus, so I went with it.**

 **Disclaimer: Me not own**

 **Idek is this, just take it.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2:**

The drive was _eventful_ for Francis to say the least.

Driving through the Autoroute de Norde highway, it was still early dusk. Glancing at the small digital clock on then headboard by the radio.

 _6:23 am_

Hearing an angry sigh at his side, Francis knew he was in _big_ ass trouble. The albino was crossed, his fists were clenched in his lap, his sharp German features were scrunched up into an angry scowl, his silver eyebrows were furrowed furiously and were forming a ' _v_ ' , his lips were thin and tightly clamped closed. His body was rigid in his seat, tension and barely contained rage leaking in the atmosphere.

Francis kept his eyes on the road. It was started bustle with life and automobiles littered the road in few numbers, the streetlights were still on. He knew of Gil's insecurities. Of course he knew. They were best friends.

Gilbert was insecure of how people thought of him, he was afraid of being treated differently just because he is an albino, but most of all, he is extremely afraid of being alone.

When he had first met the albino was at fifth grade. Around that time, Francis was somewhat alone, he felt alone, he was not that oblivious to the jabs of jocks about his lengthy hair and his ' _friends_ ' did nothing about it. He was surprised to see the German albino approach him and was proclaiming that the he should befriend the ' _awesome me_ ' since he looked like he was lonely and reasoned that being alone was not awesome.

Ever since that day, the two became inseparable, they became brothers all but in blood, Gilbert's loud personality fitted with Francis' easygoing nature. Then a year later, they met Antonio, a tanned Spanish kid with light olive eyes who had a seemingly endless patience and who had also an easygoing nature, the trio were a perfect match for each other.

The neighborhood started to call them the _'bad touch trio'_ , Francis had forgotten who had made up that name. The trio had went to the same high school. The trio became the heartthrobs of the campus, they became quickly famous from their good looks and their antics that made the girls swoon. Gil never dated once, he had his eyes on Elizaveta, a Hungarian transfer who has dark green eyes and incredibly silky long brown curls. While Antonio, who had dated once in a while but who always swooned when Lovino, another one of Francis' countless cousins, would pass by him in the hall.

As it was well known that Francis had dated countless of girls, none of them were serious, his cousin, Jeanne who is now at _Domrémy-la-Pucelle,_ a region at northeastern France working as a mercenary and a charity worker, had once joked that he would never settle down and get married.

Jeanne and Francis were close, they would contact each other in every once in a while, asking about how they were doing and how Matheiu was doing in school. Jeanne has short golden locks at the nape of her neck and had light green eyes, she and Francis had gap of three years with Jeanne being the older one. The two used to play together along with Gil and Antonio whenever she would visit years ago, they would play hopscotch, tag, hide and seek, you name it. Gilbert had once said that she was one of the _awesomest_ persons he know, to which Jeanne was flattered and teased him about it.

Francis had seen on how sometimes Gil would became uncharacteristically melancholic and ponder on if he ever would be alone. He has a fear of his love ones and the persons he care about getting hurt, he would take that pain away in a heartbeat if he could.

Aside from his obnoxious and loud personality he has a vulnerable side, everyone has.

"Look Gilbert, I am sorry for forgetti-"

"Sure, keep forgetting, you bastard of a best friend." Gilbert hissed, he turned furiously to the driving blonde.

"Look, Gilbert. I know you have issues with your insecurities, being alo-"

"Don't you even say that cursed word!" Gilbert cut him off, shouthing.

"Gilbert calm down, please." Francis pleaded. He parked the car on the side of the highway, the signal was on.

" _Calm down_!? You expect me to calm down? I've been waiting for you since 1:00 am in the morning!" Gilbert exploded. Francis fully faced him.

"But Gilbert, there were other persons in the airport, it had been bu-"

"It's not about being alone!" Gilbert shouted at the Frenchman, glaring daggers at the him.

"But then, what do you fear?!" Francis said shouted back, frustrated, he had a long day the day before, full of snooty customers from where he works at as a chef. There was a long pause, the tension was thick, Gilbert faltered, he slumped faced the door window outside with a defeated expression, Francis felt a pang of guilt.

"Do you know why I act like this?" Gilbert said in a small voice, gesturing to himself. Francis looked at his, his hands were on his lap, he did not answer. The conversation has taken a more depressing turn.

"I act like this because I would like to believe that I should be strong for those who are not. I like to be seen as someone that everyone could depend on me. I want to think that you, Ludwig, _vati_ , Antonio, Elivazeta, Vash, and Roderich could depend on me." Gilbert said in a small whisper. "But I think I'm not needed anymore."

"Don't you even say that you albino bastard." Francis hissed. "Ludwig needs you alive, you are his _grand frére_. He would be devastated. I would be also be devastated, Elizabeta, Antonio, Vash, and Roderich would be too. Gilbert don't even think of it that way, we love you as the way you are, don't ever change for anyone. If someone has a problem with that, then that's their problem. If they do, they answer to us." Francis said comfortingly, he placed a hand on the albino's shoulder and patted. Gilbert smiled and pulled him into a brief one armed hug.

"Do you know why I was late, _mon ami_?" Francis said light heartedly, after turning on the ignition. They drove on, making a left by the curb.

"What?" Gilbert elbowed him jokingly.

"Well, the night before, one customer at the restaurant decided to become a flamenco dancer and did it on her table. Her date was bewildered, it was priceless, she decided to kick the bouillabaisse into his face. We had to call Ludwig and security to stop her. And plus she was giving me trouble by clinging to me and declaring that I am the love of her life." Francis laughed.

"I bet she was stoned. She acted like Toni when he would see Lovino in the hallway." Gilbert snickered.

"Yeah, the worst part in my morning was that I did not get to apply my fourth conditioner." Francis laughed. Gil stared at him, anger rising.

"Conditioners!?"

"Why yes, my conditioners are extraordinarily scented nu-"

" _What the fuck._ "

"My conditioners cost a fortune but they are wor-"

"What the FUCK!"

"What's the matter, mon ami?"

"WHAT'S THE MATTER?!"

"Yes, wha-"

"I'll tell you what's the matter! You replaced the most _awe inspiring me_ with those good for nothing conditioners!"

" _Non! Mon am_ i I would never do th-"

"I swear I will _burn_ those devil spawns!"

" _Non_! You sounded like you are going to kill someone's baby! To which you are, those conditioners are my babie-"

"I do not give a fuck. You declared that the worse part was not applying a fucking conditioner!"

"Bu-"

"I can't believe that the _awesome me_ was replaced. By a fucking conditioner nonetheless!"

" _Non_! I would ne-"

"The awesome me is irreplaceable!"

"I know th-"

"But here I am being replaced with a conditioner by my bestie!"

"You know it's not like tha-"

"Oh I know that well, Francis! I swear I would burn those conditioners."

"But they are cherry scented!"

"I will save little birdie from your tyranny!"

"Mathieu is just fi-"

"Don't give the awesome me that ' _Mathieu is alright_ ' bullshit, I know that he is suffering under your conditioner driven tyranny!"

"Mathieu is alright, I'm sure that he's still sleeping. In fact I never heard him complain about _moi_."

"That's because he is way too kind and sweet for his own good. Awesome uncle Gil will tell him the truth, just you wait!"

"Gil, you will do no such thing, Mathieu is fi-"

"I will not lie about your empire of condi-"

"WE ARE HERE!"

* * *

Gil left the Mercedes Benz SUV with a loud bang to the door. Leaving Francis behind to turn off his car, he saw Gil making those hand motions saying 'I'm watching you' while entering the convenience store huffily.

Francis laughed at their banter, it was ridiculous. It was like the ones he had when he was young with a another kid, he can't recall, but their banter and fights were _legendary_ as his mom had said. It was around he was four when he first met the little tyke, they were the same age, they met when Francis' mama, Adrienne visited the kid's mom, they were old friends. But one thing is certain, that the kid had scruffy blonde hair.

He knew that Gil wanted to release some of his anger and playful and witty -stupid- banter was the thing Gil needed.

Francis shook his head, no need to dwell in the past.

He tentatively got out of the car, closing the door gently. He took his time in walking into the store. _La Vie Claire_ was brandished in low and warm lighting and had a brown and green color scheme, shelves were alligned in neat aisles in order and from what Francis could see was fresh produce. Francis could easily differentiate the fresh produce from the stale ones, as it comes naturally after working and learning on how to cook from years of practice. Cooking and baking was his passion.

He scanned the store, though it was rather small compared to other franchises it was fairly full, surprisingly, considering that it was still _7:12 am_. It surprised Francis that Gil and him were driving for almost an hour, courtesy of their little banter. People were, in majority were drinking coffee and eating breakfast or lining up to the register.

He immediately went after the silver mop of messiness that Gilbert calls his hair, he was hunched in the stool bar, calmly sipping his coffee. To which Francis guesss that it had a hint of cream and milk, Gilbert liked his coffee black but creamy. If that makes any sense.

He sat himself the stool beside the Albino after he also had fetch himself a cup of hot latte.

"Hey." Francis greeted, sipping his drink.

"Hey." Gilbert greeted back, he turned to the Frenchman. "So how is Luddy, _mein bruder?"_

"He's just fine. But I know he misses you by the way he would stare longingly at the door when he is at duty with me at the restaurant." Francis shrugged. He continued in a low voice. "You know Ludwig, he has trouble expressing his emotions."

" _Ja_ , he has trouble expressing his emotions. I'm glad that he has taken up the offer at the restaurant as security." Gilbert mused.

"So how is your trip to Germany? What were you doing there anyway? You left so suddenly." Francis asked, curling his fingers around the rim.

"Oh I was there to visit _mein vati_ , and had business there at the brewery. Turns out that _vati_ is alright, but his leg is bothering him again." Gilbert said, hunching in his seat.

"Is that all?" Francis raised a golden brow.

"Um.. yeah, what else could there be?"

"Gilbert, you are flushing." Francis deadpanned.

"Y-yeah?" Gilbert grinned nervously, his vermilion eyes darting around.

"Oh? Gilbert, I know that you are lying." Francis rolled his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"There is only one person who could make you blush school girl pink."

"What are you going on about Franny?" Gilbert asked, half frowning.

"It's about Elizaveta, isn't it?" Francis smiled impishly.

" _No!_ NEVER! of course not! The awesome me doesn't like her that way, she is that tomboyish friend that every could count on, she's pretty and smart and awesome, oh no I think I love her." Gilbert ranted, close to hyperventilating.

"You think? Gilbert, please." Francis huffed, his arms crossing. "Everyone knows that except her. So what did you get her?"

"I got her this." Gilbert said in a small voice. He brought out a black velvet box, it was medium sized. Francis gasped when he saw a beautiful necklace, laced with a white diamond in the center surrounded with small emeralds. It was simple but elegant.

"Oh _mon Deiu_! Gilbert, this must cost a fortune." Francis gasped, fingering the necklace softly.

"Yeah, but it was worth it." Gilbert rubbed his neck in embarrassment. "I spent my whole summer savings for the thing."

"Oh? Getting serious are we?" Francis wiggled his eyebrows, grinning mischievously. "Gonna finally ask her out?"

"Shut up Franny! Stop wiggling your eyebrows, it makes you look retarded." Gilbert flushed red at the last question.

"But you're gonna ask her out?"

"Pshh, naw." Gilbert adjusted his collar nervously, his eyes darting around.

"That's bullshit, Gil. And you know it." Francis smirked, leaning back.

"Nope."

"Really Gil? I knew you loved her before you even admitted that you kinda like her."

"Woah, hold there Franny. _Love_?! Isn't that exaggerated!?"

"But _mon ami_ , you already admitted that you love her five minutes ago." Francis smirked victoriously."You were having a stroke."

"Well, well.. well the awesome me is going... going to bribe her to hang out with the awesome me!" Gilbert exclaimed.

" _Bribe_?"

"Yeah! It's gonna be mine- no! Her awesomest day of her life! Stop laughing!"

"Well _mon ami_ , it's about time you've done so. If you didn't, I would ask her myself." Francis smirked.

"Don't _you_ dare." Gilbert hissed, his ruby eyes gleamed dangerously.

" _Honhonhon_ , don't get your panties in a twist. I wouldn't dream of it." Francis laughed, feeling uneasy.

"You better be kidding or else the awesome me would castrate you and personally send you to the burning pits of hell." Gilbert laughed, waving his hand in dismissal. Francis got a feeling it was a serious death threat. Francis looked around the shop, it was still fairly crowded for a small convenience store, the unmistakable scent of fresh fruit and produce enticed him.

"Gil, do you want something? I'm gonna look around." Francis said as he rose out of his stool, he left his latte by Gilbert.

"Hmm... _Ja_ , if you could get me twinkies, that would be great- no. That would be awesome." Gilbert said, sipping his lukewarm coffee. "And of course, get the awesome me two bottles of Maple syrup. One for me and one for _mein_ little birdie."

"Sure, you really do care for _mon petit_ Mathieu." Francis mused.

"Of course, I love the little guy. Birdie is my favorite kid, awesome person there, Franny." Gilbert mused. "Don't get lost Franny!"

"Who do you think I am? Roderich?" Francis laughed while walking away.

"Yeah, Prissy piano man does have a talent for getting lost." Gilbert cackled, snorting loudly into his coffee.

"Watch my coffee for me?" Francis said, disappearing into the aisle. He heard a ' _Ja_ ' before he passed by a giggling woman, she was fairly pretty, with brown hair and grey eyes, her face was caked with makeup. He winked at her, waving flirtatiously.

The brunette winked back. She neared him with a seductive swing in her hips, her red stilletos clicked in the floor. Her brown hair was in curls, splaying on her back across her dress. Francis smirked, he will humour her.

"Hey there handsome." The brunette purred, Francis smirked at her, he knew she just want him for a one night stand. Such a waste. Believe it or not, he had not lost his virginity, despite he had already kissed countless of women, plus his first kiss was a boy. He had recalled that his father, coincidentally also named Gilbert, had gleefully threaten him to not waste his purity on some cheap shag with someone who is most likely a prostitute vigilante from another country.

Gilbert, his father was a shy professor at the _Université Pierre et Marie_ _Curie_ , while his mother, Adrienne Roux- Bonnefoi was a headstrong lawyer. When he was little, his favorite bedtime story was his parents' love story. They met when they were simultaneously shoved into the janitor's closet by hormonal students thinking they were perfect for each other. And they were correct, five years later, Francis came into the world.

They taught and insisted that Francis would not give up his purity to someone he does not love. And he would comply to their wishes.

"Hey." Francis purred back, seductively looking at her. The brunette hummed in aproval at Francis' fit physique, he had a taunt chest, pleasurably broad and muscled and his ams were long and rugged. She boldly touched Francis' chest, dragging it slowly downward, close to his torso.

That was it, Francis frowned internally. He took a big step back, turning to walk down the aisle, faking goo goo eyes at her. She winked at him back. The audacity of that woman, has she had no dignity left? Boldly flirting with a man she just met? What a sl-

"OH BLOODY FUCK!"

Francis was now sprawled on the floor, he then registered two important things.

 _Firstly_ he has bumped someone hard and was now on his ass on the floor. _Secondly_ , there was burning and scalding liquid splashed on his chest on the impact, and it smells like Earl Gray.

"AH SHIT, THAT HURTS, AH SHIT!" An English accented voice yelped in pain.

" _Mon Dieu_!" Francis screamed at how painful the hot liquid could really be, seriously, there was still steam rising from the tea spilled area. Francis looked up to the sight of another man, as tall as him, lean with short messy ash blonde hair, soft but sharp nose, _monstrous_ eyebrows and angry and embarrased but the _most_ beautiful bright emerald eyes stared back at him.

"Oh my apologies, _Monsieur_." Francis scrambled up, wincing slightly at the still hot liquid.

"Oh bloody hell, frog." The English man grumbled loudly.

"Pardon?" Francis raised an eyebrow.

"This is all your fault!" _Oh no he didn't_.

"How is this my fault!? I bet you tripped over your caterpillar eyebrows!" Francis snarled.

"You bloody fucker! How dare you?! Maybe if you were not making goo goo eyes to that slut over there, this wouldn't have happen!" The man sputtered in rage, gesturing wildly.

" _Non non_ , you listen to me _monsieur_. This is a designer shirt here!" Francis shouted, gesturing to his tea stained shirt.

"Oh now were talking about that shitty shirt of yours? What happened to whose fault it is, you twat!?" The man huffed.

"Obviously it's yours! I thought we cleared that up!?" Francis snobbishly turned his nose up.

"We had _cleared_ that up!? No, you listen to **me** , you french wino! I don't give a _shit's worth_ about your fucking designer shirt!" The man growled.

"Oh talking shit aren't we? This cost a fortune! And guess what? The best part on this whole thing is?" Francis hissed.

" _What_ , you wanker!?" The man hissed back, his green eyes glittering dangerously.

"You will be paying for it" Francis smirked challengingly at the man.

"Oh no, no. I will be doing **NO** such thi-"

"Yo Iggy what's with the yelling?" A voice cut off the heated argument. Francis looked for the source, he saw a tall boy, with short golden wheat hair with a stubborn cowlick sticking out, fair complexion, sky blues were hidden behind half rimmed glasses, and big mega watt smile.

"Alfred!" The man turned to him, guiltily grinning at him.

"So Iggy whatcha doing with that pretty man there?" The boy smiled, placing his hands on his back. Francis supposed his name is 'Alfred' as the man had callled him.

"I told you not to _call_ me that!" 'Iggy' had hissed at the boy. The boy could not be more that twelve years old.

"So your name is 'Iggy'?" Francis smirked, crossing his arms smugly. The Brit glared.

"It's none of your business! So shut up." The Brit growled.

The child merely laughed obnoxiously, looking brightly at 'Iggy' as if used to his reaction. "So whatcha doing with that pretty man, is he model? If he is, could I have his autograph?"

The brit gawked at the child, a faint blush bloomed his cheeks, while Francis was smirking, pleasantly suprised. He turned to the brit who still was gawking at the boy, he was kinda cute.

"Now, n-now Alfred, I was just talking to the man." Francis scoffed, the Brit glared at him before turning to the child. "And please, the man is a model? More like a frog I say."

"Oh really? _Sourcils_ , if you could recall, or _I **could**_ recall, _unholy screeching_ does **not** fit on the description of talking. You sounded like a fucking exorcist!" Francis said sickeningly sweet. "Plus I can't blame the child, he has very clear eyesight unlike yours, it must be those caterpillars of yours obscuring your sight." Francis smirked at the glowering man.

"First of all, ' _Mr. Ooh-I'm-a-model'."_ The man faked cooed. "Alfred has damaged eyesight, that's why he wears prescription glasses, if you can't see." The brit said pointedly. "Secondly, you are not a model, I mean who would _that_ foolish to accept you to advertise their products? And thirdly, do **not** call me fucking _sourcils_! My eyebrows are just absolutely bloody fine. Everybody knows it's all about the eyebrows game." The brit scoffed.

"Ahh so you do understand French! I thought you don't speak ' _frog language_ '." Francis said teasingly, deliberately ignoring the man's eyebrow speech.

"You know what? FUCK YOU!" The man screeched in rage, the boy was still laughing at their argument.

"Okay guys, _nobody_ would be fucking anybody here! The awesome me declares it because your sexual innuendos does _**not**_ need to be displayed." Gilbert announced, he was shocked to see a man glowering, a centimeter shorter than Francis, who was close to punching the blonde Frenchman and drag him to the guillotine for his head to be chopped off. Gilbert turned to the seething man. "So what seems to be the problem here?"

"This man, you see, oh! Pardon me, _this frog_. He is sexually harassing me!" The man sputtered, glaring at the blue eyed blonde.

"Well I never!" Francis said aghast. "Who would be crazy _enough_ to fuck you?!"

"W-what! I AM MUCH MORE APPEALING THAN YOU!" The Brit screeched, highly offended.

"What!? Don't make me laugh! Anyone with ey-" Francis was cut off by a sound of cackling laughter. Gilbert was laughing loudly while Alfred was close to hyperventilating, clutching his stomach.

"Man, you two are hilarious." Gilbert said, wiping away a tear on the corner of his eyes.

"Hahahaha, Iggy! I've never seen you so alive!" Alfred said laughing. The Brit blushed slightly, pink dusting his pale complexion while Francis was smirking at the Englishman.

"Oh well, it seem we have set off the wrong foo-" The albino said laughing, was cut off.

" _Monsieurs_? I may have to request to keep it down, especially the swearing." A male worker said pointedly, his arms crossed over his green work apron. The Brit and Frenchman blushed slightly in embarrassment, not looking at each other.

"Oh sure, bro!" The boy said brightly, smiling at the worker.

"I apologize for any inconvenien-" The Brit was cut off by a loud shattering of glass and followed by frightened cries of other customers.

 ** _BANG!_ **

Then the fridge's glass shattered behind the alarmed Gilbert, which was displaying friut juice boxes. Gilbert immediately jumped infront of the frightened boy, the companion of the brit. Francis moved to the huddled pair, also the brit was making to the pair. Then suddenly a rough pair of arms winded up in Francis' neck, roughly grabbing him.

* * *

 **Translation and notes:**

Domrémy-la-Pucelle – a region in Northeastern France, where Jeanne D'Arc was born.

Jeanne– I made her to be another of Francis' countless cousins since I see their relationship to be one of brother and sister kind and she was one of France's citizens. That's my opinion though.

Bad Touch trio- because they are awesome.

Grand frére- brother (French)

mon ami- my friend (French)

mein bruder- my brother (German)

mein vati- my father (German)

Gilbert and Adrienne Bonnefoi- I named Francis' parents after Marquis de Lafayette (An important French general at the American Revolution who had very close relations with George Washington and Alexander Hamilton) and his wife. Man, he had an extremely long name.

Université Pierre et Marie Curie- a university at Paris, this is legit people.

 **Mr. or Ms.(?) Guest- Oh thank you for warning me, I have no idea with the description and title was supposed to be rated k+, my bad...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: _Maligayang Pagdating~_! Readers, first of all, I would like to thank you for sparing me your time on reading this fic, I had worked hard for this shite. Secondly I would like to ask to those French peeps out there, that is there any English classes on your curriculum? I hope this is not too hurried.**

 **Disclaimer: Aph Hetalia belongs to Himaruya-san. However the plot is mine.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3:**

Francis struggled and squirmed in his captor's hold. The pair of rough arms tightened on the grip of his neck, almost choking him. Francis called out in panic, fear and surprise when he felt the unmistakable cold unforgiving surface of a pistol tapping on the nape of his neck. The blonde Frenchman met the eyes of Gil, who had considerably darken in hatred and rage, he looked pleadingly.

Gilbert was still positioned in front of the boy, he was trembling, hugging tightly the brit who looked defiantly stubborn at the crook. The Englishman's stare was acidic, his green eyes lit up in anger, his stance was protective.

Then Francis was dragged off to the the counter, the black marble surface shone in the low lamp overhead, reflecting his terrified face. He clawed the crook's arms, but his nails were blunt, having little damage. The crook seemed annoyed with the clawing, he twisted his torso in a sharp tug, effectively cutting off his airway. Francis could only manage a little squeak, he felt his lips slowly turning blue, he vainly licked them to soothe the chapped surface. He felt dizzy, the blood rushing to his head, passing by his ears and his shallow gasps were the only sounds he could hear.

Then there was another tug, he felt sweet air enter back his lungs. The grip on his neck has loosen considerably, but Francis could feel the red angry bruises forming around his collarbone. Then he managed to collect himself again, he could hear the panicked screaming of other customers and the staff, they were gathered infront of the crook by the register, like livestock. Words were gibberish, trying to squirm in vain attempt to escape, then there was another sharp tug on his neck, the tightening hold was starting to hurt. Then he he could breathe again, he drawls a long breathe, exhaling it noisily through his nose.

He scanned the store, there were a few staff members considering of what time it is, consisting only of three green aproned workers, two males and one female who was cowering in fear along with the customers. The customers were huddled together, surrounding the younger ones, mostly were mothers and children, along with pinstriped businessmen who were protectively crouching infront of the women. He scanned the crowd, searching for the silver mop of hair. Seeing it easily, he felt relief wash through him, then he remembered the bushy browed brit and the smiling golden boy. He frantically searched the huddled crowd, scanning for the messy short hair of the Englishman and the golden cowlicked hair of the boy, he even searched for the same bright sparkling viridian eyes or the innocent shining baby blues.

Seeing none of them are their, he looked helplessly and inquiringly at his albino friend, who just merely growled at the crook. Then Francis noticed and registered that there was another one criminal, who wore a black mask, tuffs of pepper hair were visible on his nape, he was standing guard infront of the entrance, holding a roulette, challenging anyone to mess with him. Craning his neck slightly to see his captor, he was greeted with a scruffy beard, greying from his originally dark hair, Francis guessed him to be around his late thirties. He resigned himself to scan the crowd in vain for his two nameless aquaintances.

"Now, now. Settle down folks!" The crook boomed, his rough baritone fill the room, everyone had quieted instantly. "Now, all I want is simple, I wa-"

"Oh, let me guess. " Gil deadpanned, cutting off the crook. He turned his eyes to meet Francis' blue ones, assuring him that he knows what he is doing. "You want the money."

"And we have a winner! Congratulations to that albino freak!" The crook snarled, Gilbert snarled back and was clenching his fists. The captor turned crowd. "That's right folks, all I want is your money! Not only that I want all of yo-"

"Ooh let me guess!" Gilbert crooned out sweetly. " You also want our debit cards, our jewelry and purses."

"Guess that right again, you albino freak." The crook growled deeply, his vice-like grip was tightening a bit. Gilbert only smirked cockily, eyeing up the crook.

"Oh my, isn't that a bit stereotypical of you? _Blah_ _blah_ , I want fucking money!" Gilbert said in a whiny voice. "How about you work it off, chump. Then you wouldn't be so miserable." The crook guarding at the door was struggling to fight down a smile, his thin and brown cigarette touched lips were twitching.

"Now. Watch. Your. Mouth." The crook gritted his teeth. He faced his pistol to the albino, who merely defiantly smirked at the seething criminal. Francis let out a gasp of panic when he saw the pistol pointing at his friend, he met the ruby eyes of Gilbert, pleading him to not to get himself get killed. The mothers were holding their whimpering children, trembling slightly, the males and businessmen were staring at the gun.

"Plus, I did not think that you're so openly gay. Not that it's a bad thing, but really. Are you really that desperate to get la-" A cock of the gun was heard, the loud evident of click echoed throughout the store. Gilbert went silent, staring blankly at the drawn gun, ready to shoot. Francis sqeauked in fear, he struggled in his captor's hold, but he was given a sharp tug in his neck; quieting him down. Gilbert merely set his face blank with a serious undertone, his lips were in a frown.

"Oh? Let me access your situation, Mr. Criminal. You looked like you're a middle aged, potbellied from consuming junk, most likely that you have greying hair and is probably balding." Another click was heard, Gilbert glared. " **Let. Me. Finish**." He snarled. "You have ringless finger, but there is a mark that was bound to stay there for life. You were once married." Gilbert gestured to the arm around Francis' neck. "And now divorced. The tiredness on your eyes is showing, bloodshot. Now adding that up."

"W-what." The crook said shakily. His hold on Francis' neck was tightening.

"You are depressed." Gilbert said calmly.

"W-what! You know nothing of me! What I have been through! SHE LEFT ME FOR ANOTHER MAN! And the worst part is that I love her so much!" The criminal cried out, letting all of his fustrations out. He was trembling now, he had considerably loosen his grip on Francis' throat, allowing him to breathe.

"But really, man. Is this the right way to go?" Gilbert asked calmly, sitting in the floor, Indian-style.

"I don't know anymore." The crook whispered.

"What is this!? A fucking psychological therapy!?" The crook with the roulette interrupted, his mouth was scrunched up in distaste, gripping tightly the gun. "Louis! Fucking snap out of it!"

"Right!" The captor affirmed, he turned to the albino. " **Now** , shut the fuck up!" Cocking up the gun once more. The crook snarled deviously, his dull brown eyes were squinted warningly at the Prussian. Francis could clearly see that his bulky fingers were toying the trigger. The women were gasping, standing protectively infront of the children, while the men growled menacingly at the crook.

 _Ring~_

At that the store went deathly silent, the women felt their eyes widen and the men froze in fear. Gilbert cursed in German softly, now crouching ready to strike. Francis widen his eyes in fear, suddenly making sense of the situation. The crook growled loudly in rage, he turned on the safety of his pistol.

"John! Watch the squirts for me!" The crook bellowed in rage to the criminal by the door. He stalked up the aisle, passing by the cereals secrion in a pace, he kept Francis in front of him, placing his gun as Francis' side. Feeling the cold metal press his torso through his thick fabricated red wine dress shirt, he quieted his struggles.

The crook was still hauling the blonde Frenchman, sharply dragging him, sometimes cutting off the air and letting it in a cycle. Francis walked sullenly, resigning to the situation, but his lapis orbs were darting around in alarm, keeping it sharp for the sight of the delightful messy ash blonde hair and the golden hair that would always gleamed softly in the light.

"Aren't you a good boy." The crook softly said, licking Francis' earlobe tauntingly. Francis grimaced and shivered disgustingly. "Such a pretty creature, I would love to fuck you all night." The crook said in a low lust filled voice. Francis elbowed him in utter distaste, snarling, to which the crook would retaliate in a warning sharp tug on his neck.

"You're fucking disgusting." Francis spat.

"Quiet." The crook hissed.

They went out of the long aisle, going out, the crook stalked up the corridor. Francis frantically search for his two newest acquaintances. Then there he saw them. The brit was standing protectively in front of the the boy. Francis met the eyes of the Brit who had darken in rage, instead of the bright emerald eyes he met was a dark forest green shade.

Francis scanned the brit's form, then he saw a slight bulge in his pocket. Francis felt his eyes widened at the possible scenario, it was sure hella risky.

"So which one of you made a little call?" The crook asked, his beady eyes were squinted in a glare. The Englishman just gave the crook a dark look, pressing the boy against the wall more in defense.

"Why don't we talk like civilized men, gentlemen." The Brit spoke civilly, his hold on the boy tightened.

The crook said nothing but just threw Francis on the Brit, who immediately steadied him. Francis gulped in air, gagging and leaning against a tall display frigde filled with pops and sodas. Then the man punched the Brit in the face, hard, which sent him staggering in pain and suprise. But the Brit retaliated with a hard uppercut to the crook's throat. The crook staggered, clutching his throat, his unmasked mouth was scrunched up in pain. But he miraculously managed to grab the frozen boy, hastily pointing the pistol as the boy.

The boy was now whimpering in fear, tears streaming down his rosy and slightly chubby cheeks. His baby blue looked searchingly at the man's crumpled form, he let out tiny hiccups at the sight of the man's blood dripping down at the cold marble floor. The British man was still hunched over, kneeling, clutching his face in excruciating pain. Francis immediately ignored the painful throbbing on his throat, and went to the side of the brit. He placed a comforting hand on his back, while glaring at the the smirking crook, he was still twitching and staggering from the hard punch of the Brit, but he had a firm and unrelenting grip on the crying boy.

"How cowardly of you." Francis jeered, his cerulean eyes were firing up.

"So what, it works." The crook sneered. Francis recalled for his name to be 'Louis'

"Getting a child to be your fucking hostage cause it works!?"

Like I fucking said, it works. I get the money, who am I to complain?"

"Why would you include an innocent child to your senseless and evil vagary!?" Francis criticized, his fist clenched in anger. His admiral colored eyes where glaring at the offending crook.

"Big words there, pretty boy." Louis sneered. Alfred yelped as the crook's pistol digging unto his side.

"This isn't about my dictionary." Francis exploded. "Have you lost your _fucking humanity_!? I could see that you also have a child to. Don't you wanna protect them!? Is this your way of protecting them?!" Francis yelled, his deep and rich french accented voice rang through the store.

The crook just bowed his masked head. "Of course I had children. One boy and a little girl." He raised his head so that his alcoholic bloodshot eyes were deathly glaring at Francis. "But they were taking away by custody! Ripped away from me! My fucking whore of a wife was desperate to get away from me!" The crook bellowed.

"But then, what did you do!?" Francis yelled back frustrated. "Surely there must be an explanation!?"

"Have you been listening of my conversation with that albino freak over there?" The crook growled.

"Don't call him that. You don't have the right to call him that just because he's different." Francis defended.

"Yes, yes Mr. Saint." The crook scowled. "My wife just left me for a younger, wealthier and more handsome man."

"Did you do anything wr-"

"No I did not." The crook cut off Francis pointedly. "Why am I having this fucking conversation with you." The crook asked to himself.

"Because you need help." Francis said soothingly, he rubbed the still hunched Brit at the back.

" **Now** , don't give me those 'I _can_ _help_ _you_ ' bullshit. No professional was able to help me." The crook bellowed. "What makes you're any different." The crook hissed menacingly.

"Iggy..." The boy whimpered loudly. The Brit coughed up, his hand moved to his chest. Francis hugged the Brit protectively.

"It's alright, lad. I'm fine, Alfred." The brit looked up and smiled halfheartedly.

"Iggy!" The boy wailed in relief, struggling in the crook's hold.

"Quiet you pipsqueak!" The crook yelled, tugging his hold on the boy's neck. The boy gasped for air hungrily, staying still. "I'm not having this talk!" He bellowed in frustration. He dragged a struggling the boy, whose named 'Alfred'. Francis was about to strike but was surprisingly held back by the Brit who was still hunched in pain.

"Let them go, I don't want Alfred be hurt in the process." The Brit looked up, his eyes trailing after the pair. "We have to get to your albino friend." He smiled at the Frenchman. Francis felt his face heat up slightly.

"So what's your plan, _petit lapin_?" Francis whispered. He rose up, dusting off his clothes. He smiled as he offered a hand to the Brit. The Englishman grumbled incoherently before he hauled himself with the help of the extended hand, also dusting himself off.

"Don't call me that." The Brit muttered half heartedly.

"But you did not tell me what's your plan." Francis whispered.

"You'll see." The man answered, as he rubbed his face in pain. Francis gasped as he noticed a bleeding nose, crimson blood dripping down to his chin. Francis hurriedly pull out a blue handkerchief out of his beige pocket, he then offered it to the man. The man blushed red and accepted it hesitantly.

"It's okay, you can use it, _lapin_." Francis encouraged in a soft voice, smirking. The man let hanky touch his bleeding nose, gingerly dabbing it, wincing in pain.

"Wipe that stupid bloody smirk off your face." The Brit grumbled grumpily. "Come on, let's join the others." He said walking off briskly. Francis followed him in suit, matching his pace.

"Hey, are you okay?" The Brit whispered that to him, his bushy brows furrowed in concern.

"Oh, I'm alright, aside from the sore throat and bruised neck. I'm all peachy." Francis whispers back. The brit nodded stiffly.

"Stop being a sarcastic bastard." The brit mumbled.

"I'm not." The Frenchman whispered back, smirking. They reached the end of the aisle.

"Oh look who decided to join us!" The crook smirked, gripping Alfred's neck. "The two lovebirds!"

'Iggy' and Francis said nothing, they only glared at the accusation, but the Brit had pink tinging his cheeks. They calmly seated themselves beside Gilbert, who was squatted on the floor.

"Sorry about Alfred." Gilbert said worriedly, keeping his voice low. Francis strained his ear to hear the conversation, setting his head near the Brit's shoulders.

"Its alright. The important thing to do now is to make sure that Alfred does not get killed." The Brit whispered to the two friends, he was staring at Alfred's whimpering form. Gilbert and Francis nodded agreement. Casualties is not an option. "And distract the bitch."

"Alright preoccupy the crook is one way, the other abide." Gilbert muttered.

"We'll preoccupy him for not to notice." The Brit whisepred back. Gilbert nodded, he turned to the crook.

"Hey buddy!" Gilbert said, sickingly sweet. "Whatcha doing with that child over there?"

"If you're also blind, albino freak." The crook scoffed. To which Gilbert rolled his eyes to, Francis put a comforting hand on the albino's arm. "I'm holding this little runt as hostage."

"Oh so hostaging children now are we?" One businessman said, his gaze was criticizing.

"Shut the fuck up." The crook by the door growled, whose name was, if Francis recalled to be 'John'

"And you call yourselves men." A woman scoffed, a fair young lady, probably in her early twenties, blessed with long auburn hair.

"What did you say, pretty lady?" The crook by the door growled, grabbing the lady. The young lady lady screamed and struggled. "Maybe you shouldn't open your pretty little mouth." He licked her neck and let his hands wander on her sides.

"You are just proving their point." The Brit said, his lilting British accent was heavy in his voice.

" **Prove this!"** John snapped, his short patience snapped. He cocked his gun in warning, his index was toying with the trigger. The bastard was pointing at the lady's neck, he was about to pull the trigger then there was deafening bang, it shattered the windows and hit John's arm.

John howled in pain, he clutched his arm, blood spurting out, crimson tainting the floor. The lady escaped, joining with the other hostages, Louis, the captor holding Alfred, froze up, instinctively letting Alfred go. The boy immediately ran to the Brit's open arms, he cried in relief. Before Louis could react, another deafening bang of a gunshot was heard, perfectly aimed at Louis' shoulder. He crumpled to the ground in excruciating pain.

Then navy uniformed men, wearing high boots marched in, immediately securing the area. They arrested the two crooks, taking them to see a paramedic team, who was by two ambulances outside. It took time for Francis to register that those were the police, still recovering from shock and relief. An arm was gingerly placed on his shoulder, he turned to see Gilbert offering a hand up. Francis accepted and dusted himself off from his previously squatted position.

He was about to inquire of the whereabouts of the Brit and Alfred. He then heard a exclamation of relief, he cranned his head to the right and saw the Brit, who was protesting and blushing profusely in embarrassment. He felt his heart drop to his stomach at the sight of a tanned lean and taller man sputtering exclamations of relief and was hugging the Brit, he had messy brown hair and a muscled physique fitted into his dark blue officer uniform. He looked familiar.

Francis' stomach churned in and his chest tightened unpleasantly. Frowning, why is he feeling like this? To man he had met nonetheless! He had not been able to catch his name for God's sake! Was this jealousy?

He shook his head for what seemed to be the nth time for the day. He turned to Gil who was rubbing his neck in exhaustion, that reminded him that he has injuries caused by the crook, Louis, on his collarbone and mostly on the nape of his neck. He coughed slightly into his curled hand, he could feel Gilbert's corcerned gaze, scrutinizing him. He waved his hand in dismissal.

"I'm fine, Gil." Francis rasped, tugging his red collar.

"No you're not. Anyone with eyes could see that you're injured." Gilbert interjected. Gilbert grabbed his arm, tugging him to go outside. Filing along with the other hostages, he turned his head to catch a last glimpse of the Briton who has his hands were clasped on Alfred's shoulders, he was still talking to the tanned man, whose back faced Francis.

He was dragged off by Gilbert, to a waiting paramedic. The paramedic was a male, wearing a white uniform of a nurse, he was short in stature, with light blonde hair swept aside, warm brown eyes. He has friendly and genial smile on his face, showing off his pearly teeth, dimples were at his cheeks. Francis immediately got the vibe of innocence and warmth, the medic looked liked to in his late twenties.

"Hello, I'm Tino. What seems to be the problem, are you injured, _Monsieur_?" Tino said, his brow furrowed in concern, preparing the med kit.

"My buddy here, Francis is totally NOT fine." Gilbert snapped.

"Gilbert, _mon_ _ami_. Be nice." Francis interjected pointedly.

"I will be, if you didn't deny that you're injured." Gilbert said brusquely, crossing his arms.

"I'm not denying anything." Francis said flatly.

"You denied it five minutes ago!" Gilbert growled.

"Not five minutes has passed. Sheesh Gil learn how to count."

"But you didn't deny it that you denied it. So I was right."

"Don't be such a mother hen." Francis frowned. "In case you have forgotten, you are not my mama, but my bestie."

"Well I ne-"

"T'no, wh'ts go'ng on?" A very tall man said gruffly in a Swedish accent. He was wearing a doctor's coat, with piercing icy blue eyes hidden behind wired half rimmed glasses, there was a threatening frown on his face, his hair was short, scruffy and pale blonde. He was cradling a clip board and a ballpoint pen.

"Oh its nothing Berwald." Tino smiled at the tall man. "Francis here," gesturing to the blonde Frenchman. "Is just reporitng for an injury." Tino smiled warmly at the man again, meanwhile Francis and Gilbert were internally screaming in fear. _Mon_ _Dieu_ , that man is incredibly intimidating.

"A-ah y-yes, my name is F-francis and I-I may have a-an i-injury or t-two on my neck." Francis stuttered in fear.

"A-ah y-yes, as y-you c-can see, Francis w-was the main hostage." Gilbert stammered.

"I see," Tino mused worriedly. "Let's get you checked up." Beckoning to Francis to sit down.

"I'll h'lp." The tall intimidating medic named 'Berwald' said gravelly. He picked up a packet of patches and bandages. Francis squeaked, looking at Gil for reassurance.

Before Gil could reply, a loud Danish tenor called out. "Hey Tino!"

"Yes Mathias?" Tino replied curtly, fishing out ointments.

"So these are the patients?" The Danish man asked loudly, he had spiky blonde hair, pale blue eyes and a seemingly ever present grin, looking at the two bestfriends. He then noticed their terrified expressions, Francis was staring wide-eyed at Berwald who was slowly unbuttoning his collar. Gilbert was looking like he was internally debating if he should run or help.

Mathias smirked lopsidedly, he threw an arm on Berwald, who immediately stood rigidly. "Berwald, we're here to treat the poor man, not kill him."

"Wh't do's th't mean." Berwald said angrily, clenching his fists, a frown was appearing on his face.

"It means what it means." Mathias said airily. Berwald growled.

"Alright guys, don't scare the patients." Tino chided. He turned to Francis. "Okay Francis, let me see your wounds." Francis nodded and unbuttoned two buttons on his red dress shirt. Tino frowned at the sight of blue purplish blotches and bruising on the collarbone, he delicately touched one of the bruise, which caused Francis to evidently flinch at the contact. He futher frowned and grimaced. Gilbert pursed his thin pale lips, while Mathias whistled at the sight of it, while Berwald merely nodded, his eyes hardening.

"L'ts g't go'ng to t'e hosp'tal" He said gruffly. Getting into the ambulance driver seat.

"What! I'm going to drive." Mathias whined, tugging Berwald's arm. Berwald glared at the whining Danish man.

"No, you are not going to drive." A soft deep voice said. Francis turned his head to the newcomer. He had windswept pale locks, a cross pendant on his hair, a strange floating curl and emotionless pale eyes that was looking at the Dane. "Last time you did, you almost wrecked the car by deciding that drifting in a wet road is fun."

"Well, if that's the case, I'll just tend to the pa-"

"No."

"But why, Lukas?" The Dane whined.

"No. Just no. Last time you did, you almost choked the patient with the IV tube." Lukas deadpanned.

"Well I never." Mathias said, aghast.

"Cmon, let's get going." And with that they drove off to the hospital, with a Dane sitting unhappily at the passenger seat.

* * *

 **Notes:**

John and Louis- I made these two criminals since I named them after King John of England, who was this ruthless asshat who killed his own nephew(also named Arthur) because of the possibility of him taking the throne (no offense, but who does that? That's right, only major asshats) and King Louis XVI, the infamous king that was executed on the guillotine during at the French Revolution, along with his wife, Marie Antoinette. The symbolism here is real guys.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Sirens wailed through the wakening streets of Paris. The white utility vehicle tore through the highway, it's red cross logo was blurred by the fast paced speed of the truck. Francis was sitting, slouched on the wall interior of the vehicle, just observing in complete bemusement at the stirring argument between Lukas and a smaller and younger man.

The younger man was pale and had unusually peculiar violet eyes, so much like his _petit_ Mathieu, tousled platinum hair that would gently swish with every movement and a sharp but rounded nose much like Lukas'.

"Lukas let go of me!" The man said.

"Not until you call me Big Brot-"

"Not this argument again. Have dignity, we have patients." Tino interjected, chiding the two nurses, gesturing to Francis and Gilbert.

"Wait, so those two are brothers?" Gilbert asked incredulously.

"Certified brothers, though Emil refused to believe it." Tino sighed, rubbing a gel-like ointment on the purple blotches on Francis' collar. Tino was shocked to say the least that the second after he had applied the gel, he was met with bloodshot eyes. Francis looked on worriedly, he was suddenly conscious of the Finish man's scrutiny.

"Is there something on my face?" Francis asked uncomfortably, fidgeting on the bed.

"Aye, there is. Your eyes are bloodshot, it was not like that before." Tino said worriedly. Lukas and Emil had stopped their argument and went to where Francis was sitting. Gil too noticed something amiss from his seat across the truck. Emil frowned at the sight of the reddening eyes, he immediately grasped Francis' chin and gently examined his face, his frown going southward fast. Lukas took one look and immediately grabbed the waiting medical cooler, stored with IV fluids and ice. He popped an ice pack and proceeded to give it to Tino.

Gilbert clenched his fists at the sight of the reddening eye, grumbling death threats to himself. As a minute passed, Gilbert looked on worriedly, Francis was evidently tired from playing hostage, his developing and worsening sore throat was extremely unpleasant and found it slightly difficult and bothersome to swallow saliva. The back of his throat was scratchy and felt it was thick, luckily he was not couging. Tino then began to notice petechaie began to develop on the lid of Francis' eye, he then dabbed the icepack smoothly and gently, then motioned for Francis to hold it on his own. Francis nodded, understanding, then held the cold pouch steadily, ocassionally grunting as the vehicle hits a small bump.

Francis felt pain as he coughed up, the prospect of breathing was uncomfortable. Tino was grimacing at the steady reddening face of Francis, he was flushed heavily, his body was wearing off the shock and was catching up with the effects of strangulation, specks of petechaie was beginning to apear on his chin. Emil readily called the hospital to have a room ready for them, speaking rapidly into the phone. Lukas stood up, going to the front compartment, telling them to hurry up in Norwegian.

"Franny?" Gil asked, his feautures were distressed, "Are you okay?"

Francis, not able to speak, only nodded and flashed a pained and reassuring smile to the Prussian descent. Gilbert merely frowned further at the obvious cover.

Gilbert asked Tino if Francis was going to be okay, to which Tino nodded and answered, "His body is catching up with the effects of strangulation, he is certainly lucky for not being extremely distressed from the hostaging."

Francis felt as if he was under the haze of fever, it felt hot and he was weakening, his breathing was becoming erratic and heavy. He subconsciously unbutton his collar further, in attempt to reside the hot tempreture. His eyelids were heavy and were struggling to stay open. Lukas gently grabbed the gripped icepack and continued to dab it on the Frenchman's face, in a while, Emil had finished the call and the nurses were crowding around the patient, the two Nordic siblings were pressing the ice on Francis' face and neck - to relieve the swelling on his throat - while Tino was checking his pulses and try to slow down his breathing.

Tino stood up and hurriedly got the air mask, hook it to the oxygen and placed it on the patient's mouth. Emil and Lukas gently got him to lie down on the cot, still gently pressing the melting icepacks. Francis was lossing his consciousness fast, his eyelids getting heavier in each passing second.

The last thing he saw before he had lost consciousness was the sterile roof of the ambulance.

* * *

With a weak groan, Francis opened his eyes to sterile and muggy sunlight filtering through the windows. The room was uncomfortably too white, the walls were dull and the interior was mostly composed of medical contraptions that were beeping monotonously. A hook of IV tube were imbedded deep into his vein on his arm, pumping fluids, it was quite confining but not painful. Squinting in the light, he was suddenly aware that he is wearing a hospital gown, dotted in blue and reached just below his knees.

He stood struggled to sit up in his bed, creaking slightly. He turned to the sliding window, partially covered by white aseptic blinds, the smell of anesthesia clogged up his nose unpleasantly. He rose from his bed slowly, his joints sore and tired, he grabbed the metal stand of where his IV fluid was perched on, making sure that wires were not tangling on the wheeled stand. He slowly trudged over to the window, using the fluid stand as his support.

Arriving at the window, white colored metal framed the clear sliding glass, he touched the window, looking at the Parisian cityscape. Rising buildings and metros were in view, small lush green city parks were flourishing with the sunlight, it was a cloudless day with the sun gently smiling down at the long river Seine. He caught his flushed reflection on the pane, his throat was still swelling and his cheeks were still in a feverish color, he sighed wearily, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

"Franny! The awesome me has arrived!" Gil announce his arrival, kicking down the white door, blindly. "Oh wait, you're really awake!" He grinned when he saw Francis' form leaning into the wall, looking out from the window and he excitedly waved a white plastic with boxes. "And I got takeouts!" He exclaimed happily. Francis rolled his eyes fondly and smiled, and then suddenly gripped the fluid stand tightly, a nauseous expression took over his handsome face.

Gil, recognizing the expression, he quickly put the takeouts on the stainless metal bedside and frantically caught Francis before his knees gave out, he patted down on the linoleum floor. Francis sinked to the cold ground, his white faced was pained, he vainly clutched his head, trying to soothe the sudden drilling headache.

Gil looked on worriedly and helplessly, not knowing what to do, he patted and rubbed soothing circles on Francis' back comfortingly. Francis groaned, it was like having a hangover after a night of drinking three bottles of vodka, twenty shots of tequila and a bottle of aged red wine- he knew how that feels after his graduation party.

The door opened to the small Finish man, his head bowed in concentration on the clipped document, his pale hair covered his brow, mumbling to himself. Gil's eyes lighten up in recognition at the nurse.

"Tino!" Gil called out, readjusting Francis. "A little help here!"

Tino looked up and gasped at the sight of his patient out of bed, he whisked away his clip board at the burgundy sofa at the ward and hurriedly went too Francis' side. Francis felt the small smooth hand of Tino feel his forehead in search for signs of fever, the hand was cold and he instinctively recoiled.

"C'mon Gilbert, help me get Francis to bed." Tino said, hooking his arm on Francis' shoulders and hauled him up, Gil also kept his hand on Francis' back and guide him back to the soft bed.

They set him down at the bed, Francis wiggled into a more comfortable position, his hands searched for blanket, founding under his form, he arched his back to remove it and immediately spread it out, half awake. Gilbert and Tino helped him settle into the hospital cot, tucking him in.

"It is best if we leave him to rest and recover." Tino turned to the albino. "He had an exhausting day, as I've said Mr. Gilbert, his body is still suffering from the effects of the hostaging, especially from the trauma."

"But will be he alright?" Gilbert asked anxiously, slipping his pastel hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

"I'm sure Mr. Bonnefoi would be all okay. It's a miracle that he has shown no signs of extreme distress." Tino sighed in relief, but he turned serious. "But there will be a chance that there could be, just delayed."

Gilbert just nodded, resigning at the odds. "Alright."

Tino flicked his wrist to check on the time, he walked to the sofa and picked up his clipboard, "Excuse me, Mr. Gilbert." He turned to the albino, "I have other commitments, I'll be back monitoring Mr. Francis, after doing my rounds."

"Alright." Gilbert nodded, "Mind if I ask for the time?"

"It's _10:37 am_ in the morning." and with that and a wave of goodbye, Tino exited the plain ward, his soft footfalls echoing the hall. Gilbert turned back to his sleeping best friend, he's sure that little birdie is worried, he would have to make some calls. He nudged Francis' shoulder gently, after a few tries, he could see that Francis was out cold from exhaustion.

He left the hospital ward, softly closing the door behind him. Gil briskly walk down the hall, his boots heavily reverberating the fairly empty corridor save for some hurried nurses and some people sitting on the metal pressed benches outside rooms, bright fluorescent lights hang overhead, accenting the dull white and pale soft blue trim on the walls. After turning right, he marched down to the reception desk, Mathias was there, his hair still wildly spiked, shuffling the folders on the desk while babbling loudly to a bored looking Emil, sporting a white bandage on his temple, who was busily away clicking on the computer.

Gilbert leaned into the marble desk, lazily plopping his elbows to rest on the surface. "Excuse me." He said politely.

The Dane turned to the albino, putting the shuffled documents on a brown envelope, "Oh, hey Mr. Gilbert!" Mathias greeted cheerfully.

Gilbert grinned at the loud Dane, "Could I contact someone? Better yet use your landline or something?"

"Sorry man," Mathias smiled apologetically. "Protocal has us, nurses prevent non employees to use the reception and office landlines." Then the Dane took a moment of silence, his face scrunched up in thought "Now that I thought about it..."

"For God's sakes Mathias," Emil interrupted, grumbling about how Mathias was slow at times. Emil neared the albino, "Mr. Beilshmidt, you could use the phone booths at the waiting ward." He suggested helpfully.

"Oh that would be awesome!" Gilbert grinned happily, pointedly ignoring the bandage. "So where is it?"

"You would have to take a left from that door," Emil gestured to the nearby automatic sliding doors. "And then go straight, then turn to the right by the end of the corridor. Its pretty straightforward."

"So left, straight then right?" Gil recounted, a nod from Emil confirmed that he was right. "Got it."

Glbert said goodbye to Mathias and Emil, and left for the waiting wards.

* * *

"What happened?" Francis asked to no one in particular, he sat up on the bed with a tired moan.

"Well, after you passed out. Again. I got ate some good greasy take outs from a nearby Chinese restaurant and I made some calls."

Francis turned to that source and saw his albino friend sprawled lazily in the standard and plain couch set by the door, he was toying with his phone, busily tapping away at some bubble mania game app he had downloaded. His legs was hitched up on the cushioned backrest of the coach and was pressed against his the wall, his head was rested on a stiff looking pillow, and at the corner, the said takeout boxes and plastic were stuffed into a small trash bin.

" _Non, non_. Gil, what happened aft-"

"After your episode at the ambulance?" Gilbert supplied helpfully, rising from his previous position, propping up his arms unto his bent knees.

"Uhh... _Oui_?" Francis said unsurely, his voice weak.

"You don't really remember do you?" Gilbert stated, not really asking, Francis answered with a nod nonetheless. Right then, Tino entered the ward, cradling a clipboard, his white uniform shoes squeaking on the shiny sanitary linoleum floor.

"Ahh, Mr. Bonnefoi," Tino greeted the blonde French patient as he closed door softly, clicking soundly. "I'm not suprised that you don't really remember."

"Not really, Mr. Tino." Francis answered curtly, glad to remember the name of the nurse.

"Please, call me Tino." Tino smiled warmly, nearing the Frenchman.

"Then," Francis replied, he shot back a smile to the Finish man. "Call me Francis." He put his hand on his heart, as if introducing himself. "And call that albino greasy slug, Gilbert." He finished off lamely.

"That ' _albino greasy slug_ ' you've _kindly_ introduce is in the room to remind you." Gil snapped playfully. Francis stuck his tongue out childishly at the Prussian.

"Well, after you lost your consciousness," Tino smiled, answering Francis' unsaid question. "Well..."

 _ **Flashback**_ :

 _"We lost him!" Emil cried out, holding up the gas mask, a fog of oxygen clouding the unconscious Frenchman's face._

 _"What do you fucking mean we **lost** him?" Gilbert shrieked in panic and disbelief._

 _"No, no, I mea-"_

 _"What?! we've lost him!?" Mathias shouted from the driver's side, interrupting Emi's reassuring to a shaken Gilbert. Mathias' head was out of the small window in between the driver's compartment and the medical bay at the back, his wild spikey hair was disheveled._

 _"NO! What I meant to say wa-"_

 _"Oooh~ this is my chance to do CPR!" Mathias squealed to himself, way too joyful for the situation. "Don't worry Mister Francis!" He declared excitedly. "I'ma." He put his arms out of the small opening. "Perform." He hauled his upper body through the window, wiggling wildly. "An." A wiggle, his muscular body twisting around. "Example." He wiggled some more, apparently deciding to be a worm as a career change. "Of- oooof!" He was stuck._

 _"Oophm! Help." Mathias asked frantically, still wildly wiggling around the hole. Then he Mathias saw Lukas standing not too far, beside the unconscious blonde Frenchman, looking unimpressed at him. "Lukas help!"_

 _Lukas said nothing but approached the stuck Dane, to which the Danish man grin in appreciation and smugness. Lukas drew his hand back, "Tha-Oomph!" Lukas then sent it flying to Mathias' face, roughly shoving him back to his seat. Instinctively, Mathias flailed his legs beserkly, kicking Berwald's face hard for least two times._

 _"I C'NT DR'VE!" Berwald bellowed, hitting away the flailing legs away, keeping his hands on the wheel caused the vehicle to swerve to the side and narrowly avoided a lamppost, it caused Emil, who was entirely unprepared, to bang violently his head on the interior walls with a loud pained groan._

 _Lukas huffed, obviously annoyed with the Danish man, resigning to helping Mathias so as not to crash the car, and with a lot of pulling and whining-from Mathias' part_ _\- Mathias fell head first into the floor._

 _"Ow." Mathias groaned, rubbing his head. Tino was tending to a hurting Emil, applying cool ointment gel unto his purpling bruised temple then covering with a thick piece of wired gauze and medical tape. Gilbert was crying, shaking violently the shoulders of an unresponsive stubbled blonde, declaring that he should not die yet since he owes him twinkies._

 _ **End of flashback:**_

"Wait so, Emil was outcold?" Francis said incredulously.

"No, he just banged his head, but not to worry, he had no concussions but a small lump of on his forehead." Tino reassured.

Francis turned to Gilbert, who was listening halfheartedly, he said in disbelief, "Gil cried?"

Gilbert flushed in embarrassment. "I really thought you were gonna die, Franny." He sputtered.

"Because I owe you some twinkies?"

"N-no!"

"Gil, I had a gas mask on my face, I'm fine."

* * *

Two days after he really woke up, Francis was dispatched from the hospital. He had said his goodbyes to his new friends, the medical team from the ambulance. He had discovered that most people he had befriended were foreigners and immigrants. Emil was from up north at Iceland, he had only discovered two years ago that he and Lukas were brothers at a family reunion, the very first time they met each other after their parents' divorce when they were little children. Lukas himself was a Norweigan by the law, Mathias was Danish and his thick accent really showed it, Berwald was Swedish- though Francis had learned about it three hours ago, and Tino was a pure blooded Finish by heart and blood, showed through his love for saunas.

He was standing before the reception desk, beside Mathieu, who was standing up on his tippy toes, peeking through the tall desk. Francis was busily chatting up with Tino while signing off some of papers, his golden curls bouncing from jovial talk and laughter. Mathieu was gripping his pants leg tightly, looking around, seeing patients being rolled in and hurried staff in white uniform, some pristine, some bloodied and had a distinct smell of metallic blood.

Mathieu's round glasses was glinting in the sunlight, his eyes trailed on the urban landscape outside, the river Seine glittering, it's green blue waters lapping on the side of the canals. The tall and cemented buildings peeered over the river bank, reflecting on the surface. The Arc De Triomphe de l'Étoile could be seen, standing proudly on the western side of the Champs-Élysées, the neoclassical architectural wonder was truly unique, the history behind it is wondrous.

"Mathieu?" Francis called him, smiling gently on him. Mathieu wonders if how much more he would see him smile, especially after the incident.

The hostaging episode happened for Francis was a ' _wrong-place-wrong-time_ ' case. He heard Mr. Tino, Mr. Lukas and uncle Gilbert talking over the possible reactions and responses after the incident, and that includes trauma. It took him atleast two years and still going to return to normal, the loss of his parents had hit him hard, those sleepless nights were the worst. He admits that he had shrunken back to the start, he had became more quiet and more timid, a shell of his former self, and he was slowly getting there to fill it again.

For Mathieu, making friends is extremely hard, his timid nature always resulted to him being forgotten. His ' _friends_ ' had forgotten him, his teachers were sometimes clueless of his existence. But _never_ Francis. He had always seen him, he would remember him, he would care for him, care for his well being and his opinions. And for that, he will always love him, as a brother, a friend, a cousin and a papa.

After Mathieu woke up on the morning of March 25, it was strange to not smell of heavenly pancakes, crisp bacon, and sweet maple syrup in the air. But he did not mind it. After changing into a more decent outfit, he padded silently on the stairs, he was suprised when he saw the note on the pantry saying that Francis will be back by nine. But after patiently and passing the time with some light reading and diligently doing his homework composed of basic Algebra and quadrilateral equations while listening to music. Surely after he had finished homework, he looked up to the clock to be ten. Not really worrying, he had guessed that uncle Gil had a delayed flight or the two friends decided to catch up at a café along with Auntie Elizaveta.

But each passing hour, after twelve, he began pacing and bitting down his nails from worry. _Always_ , not one time that Francis had not come home for lunch. Since his duty was usually three to eleven pm at a very famous restaurant downtown. By around three, he was prepared to call the police and set up a search warrant. Then the phone rings and he was talking with uncle Gilbert.

After he got the whole story, he had immediately demanded to be pick up and be at the hospital as quickly as possible. He had stayed two nights over there, he had dropped off Juillet at Mr. Felicianio Vargas, his cousin or uncle(? ) He does not know anymore. He got picked up by Auntie Elizabeta -or Lizzie he would like to call her- when he got there, Francis was sitting dazedly on the hospital bed, his eyes glazed with sleep. He immediately yelled at him about the whole thing, saftey is first and all those shizz, but deep down he was immensely relieved.

"Mathieu?" The twelve year old was snapped back to reality by Francis calling him, looking down at him.

" _Oui_ Francis?" He looked up to him.

"Let's go." Francis said to him, he then turned to a smiling Tino and a blunt Lukas. "Say goodbye to Emil, Mathias and Berwald for me." He said to them, shaking their hands and saying their farewells. The cousins left the hospital in relative silence with Mathieu gripping Francis' hand.

* * *

The long drive back to their suburban home was spent in companionable silence, the station radio playing softly playing, the DJ's french words filled the car. Passing by the countryside, the occasional trees would pop up into view, mostly firs. Mathieu was staring out of the window, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

Francis had stopped by Feliciano's home. It was fairly large home, especially in the city, with warm brown walls and a oaken door that had a bronze knob, French windows that stretches from the ceiling down to the floor, and wooden based interior. Mathieu's cousin -( or uncle? He doesn't know anymore) was kneeled down, rubber garden gloves were stretched to his elbows and was overlapping his plaid flannel. Bent over to tend his flower bed of stylized lilies and knapweeds by his grass hedge, his upbeat humming was heard and his brow was covered in a thin delicare sheet of sweat, his short brown hair was hidden by a straw hat.

Feliciano Veneziano Vargas, a very jovial and cheerful young man of twenty years old, a fresh graduate from culinary school. He had permanently moved to Paris not so long ago from Milan. The young man was fond traveling around, testing the culinary and food from all of Europe, never settling down. He had attended high school at Paris, always complaining at how complex and difficult to understand the French educational system is and how is there was no pasta with alfresco sauce served everyday at the cafeteria.

Now living with his older brother by two years, Lovino Romano Vargas, a very hotheaded man and had a mouth of a sailor, with olive skin and short dark brown hair with a peculiar curl. Lovino had originally planned to stay at Normandy, but decided to stay at Paris after he had graduated from Lycée Louis-le-Grand with a surprisingly good grades and with a course of engineering. Unlike his little brother, he is a very brash and agressive man, but it is a gentleman for ladies. Both brothers did not really get along from their polar opposite personalities, but they do love each other dearly. Their father, Romulus Roma Vargas, a cheerful and happy go lucky man in his mid fifties, who looked surprisingly like he was still in his early thirties, is now staying with Gilbert and Ludwig's _vati_ , Gerald and is helping him with the brewery.

"Francis!" Feliciano had greeted them joyfully. "And Mathieu!" Feliciano picked up the child with surprising strength and twirled,him around, to which Mathieu giggled to. He grinned at the older man, his warm hazel eyes glinting happily, he had put down the child, who had immediately ran to the porch. Juillet, the small poodle, was barking and her white tail was wagging happily at the sight of her owners.

"I take it that you want to pick up Juillet up?" Feliciano grinned, taking his dusty gloves off.

"Oui, " Francis grinned gratefully back. "Feli, thank you for taking care for _mon petite_ Juillet."

"Its no problem, _cugino_!" Feliciano then frowned in concern, "Are you alright? I heard it from Mathieu."

"Ahh.. What did he say?" Francis raised a golden brow, Mathieu has the tendency to over exaggerate when he was worried.

"Well, he said that you were hit by a truck." Feli had tears gathering in his eyes. "And you were sawed in half by Killer jeff and was executed in a revolutionary guillotine."

Francis then stared at him as if Feliciano had grown three heads and a pair of tweezers on his forehead, taking a moment to process the 'information' that Mathieu so kindly provided to his cousin. Knowing Feli, he will not be surprised if he believed Mathieu. "And you believed him?"

"Well, I have believed him at fist, until Gilbert called me." Feli drawled on, "By the way, where's Gil?"

"He had gone home with Elizaveta and Ludwig since they lived in the same neighborhood." Francis sighed. "He has been acting like a mother hen ever since I had really woken up."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Gil had stopped for the meantime after he had been dragged home by Elizaveta and Ludwig. But I expect him to show his face later."

"Veh~ You've seen Ludwig?" Feliciano smiled.

"Oh? You like Ludwig?" Francis smiled impishly, his dimples by his chin was showing.

"Veh, Si!"

.

The two cousins arrived at their suburban home by ten in the morning. Luckily that the past two days were weekends, so Matheiu did not miss any classes, but tomorrow they would start their second quarter. Francis had prepared _Croque Tartine Parisienne_ and a small bowl of _Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée_ for lunch, he and Mathieu had eaten their meals in relative silence, but Mathieu has been poking his spoon on the soup for a while, nervously glancing around.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Francis said, interrupting Mathieu's train of thoughts.

"Huh?" Mathieu looked up from his _croque_.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Francis repeated, looking him in the eye.

"Oh, oh." Mathieu spooned the rim of his bowl. "I was just thinking of school?" He sipped his stew thoughtfully.

"What about it." Francis took a bite of his sandwhich, egg yolk running down the bread.

"Well..." Mathieu fiddled with his spoon.

"Well?" Francis coaxed, raising a brow. "Spit it out."

"Well, nothing's new," Mathieu spoke nervously. "Well.."

"Hm?" Francis raised another brow.

"Ah, well." Mathieu said in a small voice.

" _Oui_ Mathieu?" Francis coaxed on.

"Ihadatalkwithmyteacher." Mathieu said very rapidly.

"Pardon?" Francis blinked.

"I said." Mathieu said in a smaller voice. "I had a talk with my professor."

Francis stared at the boy, "Then?"

 _There's no turning back now._ Mathieu met his eyes. "He said that I was failing his class, he was concerned."

"Really?" Francis continued to stared. Mathieu is a good student, even though he is a tad bit shy, he was a top honored student with good grades and straight A's "What subject."

"Literature. First foreign language; English." THe twelve year old said in a small voice.

Francis then stared hardly. "Is by any chance that he is an Englishman?"

Mathieu did not like the strange gleam on his older cousin's eye, he said cautiously "He is."

 _Englishmen and their literature ._ Francis felt his eye twitch. _His bragging rights were at stake._

Mathieu was not liking the emotions crossing Over the Frenchman's face. Confusion, anger, remorse, then finally a forced smile.

"I would like to have a talk with him."

* * *

 **Notes and Translations:**

 _ **Petechiae**_ \- exploded blood capillaries, the term for the small red blotches on your skin after irritation or incident that might lead to internal bleeding or something like that.

 **cugino** \- cousin (Italian)

 **Killer Jeff** \- if you don't know him, then I have lost all hope for this generation.

 **Croque Tartine Parisienne** \- Egg-topped ham and cheese sandwich

 **Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée-** onion soup

 **Author's note: (Edited)**

 **GerIta is hinted here, heck even the flowers were hinting it... BTW Hey guys! Please excuse this chapter, its quite boring and uneventful. But the drama and romance starts on the next chapter \\(.-.)/ and I'm sorry if the Nordics are OOC and please, I'm not even that funny. Thanks for reading!**

 **And thank you for _browsofglory_ for reviewing, I'll keep that in mind and thank you very much!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

"Uh, _non_." Mathieu said bluntly with a hesitation.

" _Non_?" Francis said incredulously, taken aback.

"No." Mathieu said surely, not really liking the strange light in Francis' eyes.

"Mathieu." Francis said warningly, staring at the boy.

"No." Mathieu looked away pointedly.

Francis frowned, then smiled mischievously. "Mathieu.." He continued in a very believable sad tone. Mathieu looked at him, frowning defiantly at his display.

Francis knew he got Mathieu under his thumb, he smirked internally, a little more would suffice. "Mathieu..." he said pitifully, using his imfamous puppy eyes, his indigoes were twice their size and were glittering, his lips were in a pout.

"N-no."

"Mattie..."

The will of Mathieu finally snapped, it was visibly seen on his face. Francis smirked infuriatingly and victoriously, he fingered his spoon on his bowl, swirling the thick concoction. "F-fine." He admitted softly in a hard tone.

"Oh?"

"But on certain conditions." Mathieu said quickly but firmly, pointing at Francis with his spoon threateningly, showing that he was serious. "Number one, You are _not_ going to punch him."

"Mathieu, I'm just going to have a chit chat with your English professor." Francis said, saying ' _English_ ' with slight disdain.

"Last time you said that, you almost killed that secretary with shaving cream and a pair of tweezers." Mathieu raised a brow disapprovingly.

"He was not an English professor." Francis retorted.

"I know, but still."

"That was still a rhetorical question, Mathieu." Francis grumbled.

"But still." Mathieu pressed on.

"He was being a piece of _merde_ ," Francis waved his had offhandedly, he continued. "And for your information, he started it. Plus, I did not do any damage, you're over exaggerating."

"You didn't do any damage?" Mathieu pointed his spoon at the older man, "He had just mistaken you for a woman, and by the time you were finished him, he went out of the hospital with a broken arm and a black eye. You're lucky that you got off lightly."

"See? You're exaggerating."

"Not the point, Francis." Mathieu sighed, sipping his water. "Look the thing is, my English professor offered his services."

"Oh~ Mathieu, I didn't know that you like older men." Francis said lewdly, wiggling his eyebrows, his mouths turned up in a teasing smirk.

Mathieu was bewildered for a second, then caught up with the meaning. He immediately flushed red and said accusingly at Francis. "N-no! Not like that!"

"Oh?" Francis smugly smirked, "Enlighten me, _mon petit cousin_."

"Look," Mathieu said. "He offered to tutor me every afternoon, after school. Along with another classmate of mine."

"Oh?" Francis grimaced. "Then it is absolutely necessary to have talk with him."

"No."

"But you gave me your consent a while ago!" Francis whined childishly.

"No."

"Are you going to repeat that word all day?"

"No."

Francis scoffed, "I don't your need permission anyway. I'll be sure to find him."

"You don't even know my professor's name." Mathieu deadpanned.

"Touché."

Mathieu stared, unimpressed. "No," he deadpanned. "Because I do not like that gleam on your eye. Whenever I see that, I absolutely know that there's something bad gonna happen." Mathieu placed his spoon on his plate, he was finished eating.

"Are you even sure about that?" Francis said confidently. Mathieu gave him a look that clearly say ' _Would you like me to elaborate?_ '

But after while, Mathieu sighed and gave in for the second time. "But please don't, in any ways, hurt him."

"Mathieu, like I said, it's just a chit chat, I promise."

"But you said that the last time." Mathieu deadpanned. He stood up from the table, placing his dish on the sink, the blonde stubbled Frenchman followed in suit, also placing his bowl and crumbed plate on the stainless metal sink. He rolled up the sleeves of his baby blue sweater that he had changed earlier and he turned on the knob of the faucet, water running down the curved metal and into his smooth bare and wet hands. He motioned to the blonde boy to pick up the drying towel, to which was complied.

He scrubbed the edges of the white porcelain plate, removing the food stains from the yolk. "C'mon Mathieu." He whined.

"Fine, but please don't tick him out." Mathieu resigned. "He is quite a hothead. But he is a great teacher and a kind person until you've done something wrong."

"Okay, okay." Francis waved his hands in a dismissing way, halfheartedly listening as if used to these kinds of persons. "So I'll talk to him tomorrow." Francis said, then he turned to his young cousin. "About your performance."

"Alright," Mathieu sighed for what seemed like the nth time of the day. "I'll be sure to inform him tomorrow."

"Hmm.." Francis hummed in approval. He soaped up the sponge with a sweet smelling dishwasher, squeezing it softly, surely soapy bubbles came out of the holes. He wiped off the stains, then proceeded to wash it down clean with running water. He silently passed it to Mathieu, who wiped it dry with the wash rag.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in random conversations and relative companionable silence save for occasional Juillet's happy barking. Surely by two hours past twelve, he was up in his room, changing into his chef uniform. The uniform was pristine white and crisp, with black trimmings, black buttons, the tricolor of the French flag was imbedded on his collar, and his name— _Francis Bonnefoi_ was inscribed with golden thread on his heart area. He made sure he packed his apron into his knapsack, he shouldered it before he left for his daily duty. The reasons of his absence for the past two days have reached the restaurant, he immediately was pardoned and said that he should take his time, but he wanted to work. He loves his job, it was his passion.

He left the house with goodbyes and for some strange reason, he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach in sweet anticipation and a tinge of nervousness for tomorrow's events as he drive down the road. And he doesn't know why.

* * *

Staring at his reflection, some would say that he is a perfect example of a impeccably perfect human. He adjusted his blue sleeves before resigning on to fold them neatly up to his long muscled and lean elbows. He had been in the car waiting for the passing five minutes for the distinctive loud chimming of the school bell of the renown school. He had brushed before going here, but for some reason, his breath still smelled of the croissants he had eaten for a quick snack and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Though he had longingly wished that he should have brought some mint to chew.

He had often throw glances at the small compacted digital clock by his radio, playing a _Stromae_ song to whose title he had not bothered to remember or think. Now bored, he had resorted to half interestedly observing to everything that caught his eyes, it's probably the half of the reason on why he had very tinted windows. He let his eyes wander around the interior of his car, pale tortilla leather seats and khaki shades of interior, then setting it briefly on the white paper bag resting on the passenger seat, it was tightly sealed by folding as to seal the aroma of the _mille-feuille_ he had baked. It had been his once in a week restday today and Mathieu has been at school all day since it was Monday, the pastry's vanilla scented custard was mild through the bag but the feathery scent of soft powdered sugar and the strong vanilla complemented each other beautifully.

He was parked outside of _Lycée Fénelon_ , his hands busily tapping away on the stirring wheel on the beat of an unknown catchy pop song. Readily shifting he reached out for his seatbelt connector, hearing a satisfying click as he pushed down the red shift button and ejecting the seatbelt, catching it easily as it zipped away from his body. The school that Mathieu attended was quite far away but it was one of the best, his _petit_ Mathieu deserves the best after what had he been through. The pricetag was hefty, but as a full scholar his tuition was already paid but Mathieu had to maintain grades, that keeps Francis from working two jobs and exhausting himself.

The school was a an old collections of building, it's concrete wall were weathered pleasantly—giving it a feel of how ancient it is, the gates were stainless metal and are in a geometric fashion that lets passerby clearly see the campus, the school's logo were proudly plastered in numerous pillars, and the school grounds was deserted save for the occasional teacher wandering around. Dismissal would not happen until ten minutes, the clock showing _3:32 pm_ , he had twenty eight minutes to spare.

He had been a tad too early. He'll admit that.

 _Perhaps he was excited?_

Francis snorted to himself, he was getting ridiculous.

 _Well might as well wait for mon petit agne inside_. He turned off the ignition, waiting for the engine to respond, he shouldered his brown messenger bag, bagging the little pastry white paper bag and his copy of _Les Misérables_ to occupy himself. He got off the car, shutting it firmly, shuffling to readjusted his feet in his dress shoes, shouldering his bag once more. He walked away from his black car, his pace was languid and slow and the small heels on his footfalls clicked soundly on the dry and dusty pavement. He entered the school gate with little difficulty with a flash of his ID and a signed note from Mathieu and of course, a little bit of flirting, leaving a flustered guard.

As he strolled into the campus's front courtyard, soft afternoon sunlight spilled from the clouds and enveloping the yard in comfortable warmth, the tall proud oak tree stood in the center, its wide green leaves provides cool shade for everyone. He seated himself on a wooden bench, crossing his legs lazily, leaning back on the bench, he fished out his copy and began quietly reading with the spring breeze playing with his golden hair.

"Francis?" A soft gentle voice jolted him from the world of the historical fiction past of the tear jerking novel on his hands. A finger poked his cheeks repeatedly. He looked up to meet the tender indigo eyes of Mathieu boring into his face.

Francis smiled sheepishly, "Ah, Matty. _Desole_." Mathieu was wearing a red sweater and skinny black jeans and old sneakers.

Mathieu rolled his eyes and sighed tiredly. "Oui." But he beamed again, his violet eyes smiling. "But I'd ought to forgive you, especially after you made that _délicieux_ _Coq Au Vin_." He said dreamily.

"Well," Francis grinned, flipping his golden hair back. "You're going to forgive me more," he smiled, poking Mathieu's cheeks, leaning a bit more to his knees. "Since I made some _Mille-Feuille_." He said teasingly, still grinning. Mathieu just grinned back and held out his hand as if asking for the pastry.

Francis tutted teasingly, tapping the twelve year old's nose gently. "Not until we talked to your professor, _cheri_."

Mathieu just huffed halfheartedly and grinned back, "Well then, what are we waiting for?" He offered his smaller hand to the older man. Francis accepted and packed in his previously unattended book into his bag, shouldering it.

As a 'five-foot-nine', he easily towered over Mathieu at atleast a foot or less, he let his arm encircle the shoulders of the still growing boy. Walking through a sea of students, Francis could notice a handful of students, mostly girls, giggling as he walked past by then whispering about the blonde handsome Frenchman that looks like a famous model. The sun temporarily blinded him after the duo went out of the shade, walking in an idle pace. The two cousins talked about anything, though Francis did most of the talking.

A very familiar scene like this warmed his heart, the scene of students chatting jovially and tired looking staff still sauntered proudly out of the numerous grand buildings was in his memories. He could remember on how each teacher had their own quirks of exasperation when it come of him, Gil, and Toni causing trouble. He could still clearly remember the face that Roderich Edelstein—or ' _Piano Prissy Man_ ' as Gilbert had ' _kindly_ ' called him— when the trio had dumped him in an unsuspecting pool of eggnog and honey, they had fondly called it their ' _Christmas Special of '07_ '.

Passing under a sheltered walkway, the dry pavement was echoing soundly by a throng of school shoes. They entered an open hall, the marble floor shone dully from the luminous lights above, lockers were lined up unto the seemingly endless corridor. Panned doors were scattered every after a long row of lockers, guessing that this must be Mathieu's subjects hall. Passing by hurried students and staff, Matheiu stopped by a panned oaken door.

Francis guessed this to be the classroom of the English professor, whose name that Francis hadn't known. Yet.

The butterflies in his stomach were back on full force, almost to the point of him feeling quite queasy. He groaned in frustration, bringing a hand to his face to rub it face. _What the fuck got into him?_

The two were standing a good five feet from the door, right in the middle of the relatively empty hall. He inhaled a gulp of air to quench _that_ _annoying_ tugging on his heart and moved his hand up to undo the velvety blue ribbon that matched his dress shirt, setting his long golden hair free, running a hand through it. There were yelling inside the classroom, it did not sound serious but more of a playful banter between a child and an adult, to which Mathieu sighed.

"Why Alfred?" Mathieu muttered to himself conspicuously. Francis visibly perked up at the name. _Could it be?_

"Mathieu? Did you say Alf-"

"ALFRED!" A British accent rang out, bellowing in rage, cutting off the question of Francis. Then a couple of loud heavy running footsteps echoed from behind the door and the sound of laughter were heard. The the door burst open to a familiar boy, his golden hair was mused slightly and bouncing from his convivial laugh, his baby blues sparkling from joy and he was running but stumbling from his chortling. The boy—Alfred— made a bee line for the open double beech doors that was the entrance. Or at least he tried to. _But was he carrying **pants**?_

"ALFRED!" The British voice shrieked again.

"Oh hey Matty!" Alfred grinned, not really looking at Francis. He looked back, waving slightly. Then his eyes widen at the stomping footsteps. He continued running, or tried.

"Alfred, wha-" Mathieu asked softly.

"ALFRED!" A man bellowed, his ashen hair was messy and emerald green eyes were wild, bushy eyebrows furrowed. His lean frame was panting and his face was flustered red in anger and embarrassment, from up, his appearance was normal, his white dress shirt was slightly bedraggled and his black suit vest was mussy, but the only thing that was definitely out of normal was that the man had no pants...

THe British man was only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, he was desperately covering it with a crumpled three paged stapled document, clutching it in rage. His legs were partly hairy but was cut of by hideous bright neon green argyle socks that went up below of his knees and his polished dress shoes were slightly dull. But all Francis could do was stare at that perfect defined and firm ass. _Its him_...

In a daze, Francis reached up his hand and was surprised that he was slightly blushing.

That never happened before.

The man looked murderous, his acid eyes trailed on the shaking frame of Alfred, who was laughing so hard at the man that he was doubled over, wheezing and was attempting a very pitiful excuse of getting away. Alfred had clutched the pants protectively and was laughing and snorting loudly, at last, he slipped on the marble floor from the stray long black slacks.

"H-hey I-Iggy!" Alfred was cut off by his poorly concealed and barely suppressed snorting. " W-what are y-you d-d-doing," he laughed, then guffawed over his covering hand, "witho-out _p-pants_!" He practically bellowed with laughter at the last word.

"You twiddling NITWIT!" The Brit growled, waving his fist wildly. "Get back here!"

"B-but Iggy" He was trying to make a pouting face and he was failing miserably. "Y-you ha-ave," he snorted into his hand, " **guests!** "

"You bloODY GIT! I WILL MURDER YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!" The Brit shrieked shrilly, his voice had gone in an octave up in extreme embarrassment.

"L-look at y-your ba-back Iggy!" Alfred laughed obnoxiously. "Th-th-there's M-mattie and his o-old man!"

Francis made an indignant shout, " _Sacré bleu_! I am not old! Its quite the opposite!"

Mathieu faced palm, and sighed. "Francis."

The man stood rigid, then slowly shuffle back to the classroom, keeping his eyes on the ground, and grabbed the pants and he proceeded to lock the door with a click.

Mathieu turned unto the snorting boy. "Look at what you did Alfred. You've broken Mr. Kirkland." Mathieu crossed his arms, staring unimpressed at Alfred. "Great, just great."

"But Mattie..." Alfred whined, latching an arm to the purple-eyed blonde.

"Alfred," Mathieu tutted disapprovingly. "That wasn't nice. Though it was an understatement, but to say the least, that wasn't nice."

Alfred rolled his eyes and looped an arm around Mathieu's shoulders. "Nice, shmmice. Pfft." He said sourly like the kid he was, he then immediately brightened, looking Mathieu in the eye, "But you know what's not more nice?"

"What." Mathieu deadpanned.

"Not introducing your cousin to your bestie!" Alfred grinned, puffing his chest. "Now thats not nice!" He added. He then locked his baby blues with Francis' ocean blues. Francis saw the adolescent's eyes go wide and then glitter with admiration.

"Its you." Alfred said in awe.

"Alfred? Are you okay?" Mathieu asked.

"Am I!" Alfred exclaimed, he looked Francis in the eye. "Your pops and his albino friend saved my life!" The boy proceeded to shake Francis' hands vigorously.

"Uncle Gil and Francis!?" Mathieu turned to the blonde Frenchman, who had grinned sheepishly.

"Man, he became the first main hostage then his albino friend and my big bro devised a plan to call the cops." Alfred spoke rapidly, smiling the whole time, gesturing his hands wildly. "And it absolutely worked!"

Francis chuckled nervously. "Yay, uhh." He really was not liking the look at Mathieu's face.

"Why didn't you tell me the whole thing!" Mathieu cried out, shaking Francis' shoulders violently. "Now that I think about it..."

"Surprise." Francis said weakly.

"You just told me that the crooks just partly strangled you!" Mathieu said, looking absolutely betrayed. "And the police came by a one in a million chance!"

Francis looked away and laughed guiltily. Alfred gasped and shook his head furiously, "No! That's far from what happened! The real thing involved him getting almost strangled to death with a cocked gun at his temple!" Alfred took a look at Mathieu's face, and continued. "And then I got hostaged after the crook who had hostaged your cousin punched Iggy in the face!" Adding his own experience as if making the situation better.

"What!" Mathieu said incredulously, looking absolutely horrified.

"But then Iggy managed to punch the crook in the throat! Man, that must have done some damage!" Alfred excitedly said, then recounted thoughtfully. "I bet that crook was a fucking commie."

Mathieu turned to Francis, who was edging slowly away. "How could you!"

"Surprise.." Francis mimicked his words earlier in a much more weaker voice.

"You told me that there was no gun involved!" Mathieu cried out.

"It was for the better, _mon petit agne_!" Francis retaliated, feeling guilty. "Did you see on how you reacted when you found out that I was in the hospital! You were livid!" Francis placed his hands on Mathieu's shoulders, not looking at his face. "You told Feliciano that I got shot, got sawed in half by Slenderman and got executed in a guillotine!" Francis weakly argued, then he thoughtfully said to himself, "Or was that Killer Jeff?"

"Killer Jeff." Alfred supplied, affirming cheerfully.

"Not the point!" Mathieu hissed angrily. "And we will talk about this when we get home."

"But you'll forgive me right?" Francis weakly said, grinning nervously. "Since I made some _Mille-Feuille_?"

"There will be no one forgiving anyone unless we talk." Mathieu hissed.

"Alright." Francis agreed feebly.

"Now thats over!" Alfred cheered, not sensing the ' _atmosphere_ ' at all. "I'll go get Iggy and we can make some arrangements!" And with that, Alfred went inside, somehow breaking the lock system with a simple twist of his wrist and he happily skipped in and calling out 'Iggy' loudly in a teasing manner.

"That's not his real name?" Francis said, breaking the silence. "Right?"

Mathieu just huffed and brought a hand to his face, kneading his forehead for a while before answering. "No, of course not."

"Then what's his name then," Francis asked, wanting to continue the conversation. " _Mon petit agne_?"

"Thats for me to know and for you to find out." Mathieu replied angrily and pointedly as he glared. Francis sighed as he caught on what Mathieu has implied, his own actions thrown back at his face.

Then the door opened to a beaming Alfred, his dark blue tee was slightly crumpled. Mathieu looked a bit mad but past instances had been shown that he that could not stay mad at Francis long. "C'mon in folks!"

"Thank you Alfred." Francis muttered softly. Patting Mathieu's shoulders, signaling him to enter first, they entered the classroom. The classroom itself was fairly large, painted in soft white and cream, wooden chairs and desks looked in good condition, clean tiled marble floor was lustrous from the numerous fluorescent lights above and there was a big wide chalkboard on front, the teacher's desk was oaken and on top was reams and leaves of papers scattered but organized. The door the trio was was by the back of the room, far from the desk.

But what caught Francis' attention was the man, whose lean back faced him as he was shuffling papers facing the board, muttering loudly to himself. But more importantly, his pants were on his person, but much to Francis' secret and immense delight, the Brit's ass was still defined through the fabric of his black slacks.

"Iggy!" Alfred exclaimed joyously. "Mathieu and his cousin are here!"

"Alfred," the Brit chided loudly. "For how many times I have to tell you that," he put cradled the ream of papers unto his right arm. Then glanced at the smiling boy. "Don't call me Iggy." He then sighed noisily through his nose, "My name is Arthur."

Francis breathe caught as the man turned to face them, he felt his face heat up pink. They were the same piercing emerald green eyes, dangerous and cautious, those thin and full pink lips still looked soft, and alas, his eyebrows were bushy as ever. _Arthur_... so that was his name, it fits him perfectly, regal and dignified, just like the bearer.

"Arthur.." Francis murmured to himself softly, rolling the ' _r_ 's in his deep accent. It feels right on his tongue.

"Alfred, how many times do I have to tell you that?" Arthur asked, raising an impressive eyebrow, his green gaze was focused on the little golden boy. His tone was inquiring, he was expecting Alfred to continue that question.

"Always." Alfred replied cheekily. And he continued, "Plus I like calling you Iggy, like that boy when you were a child."

"Yes, yes, great nickname. We were both children at that time, plus he was a pansy." He said grumbling, "But I miss him terribly." He continued in a softer tone. But then shook his head, "But really. Don't you get tired of calling me that?"

"Nope!" Alfred said, skipping to Arthur, hugging him in the waistline. "But you'll love me anyway, big bro!" He said in a sing-song voice.

"You bloody twat," Arthur grinned, patting the golden hair fondly, looking down on him. "You're lucky you're absolutely right on that one."

Mathieu smiled, then cleared his throat. "Ahem." Arthur turned his gaze at Francis' little cousin, who was shouldering his knapsack.

"Oh, right." Arthur gruffly spoke, he broke the hug but kept his arm on the boy. He then slowly connected his eyes with the flushed Frenchman.

" **Its you!** "

* * *

 **Translations and Notes:**

 **Merde-** shit (French)

 **Sixième** \- Seventh grade, first year of highschool or middle school

 **Collége** \- highschool or middle school

 **Lycée Fénelon** \- a well known high school in Paris

 **Mille-feuille** \- A French pastry with puff pastry, custard and powdered sugar

 **Desole** \- sorry (French)

 **délicieux** \- delicious (French)

 **Coq Au Vin-** a very delicious looking French chicken stew.

 **I stopped it at there since I'm such an ass(I'll admit that, but hey, I'm not that bad.) Plus, I may not be updating for a while or this week.. since school (here in the Philippines) or my school would start at June 7, so that means my mom would go crazy about gadgets and ban them, though I have my phone, no worries, but my phone is not exactly an updated one or that high tech(though I love it with all of my heart, even though its practically useless with no sim and all that shizz, but I love it.) Soo, I cant exactly update even I desperately want too. But I shall return! (As General MacArthur had said.)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

 _He takes it back._

Francis never knew on why on earth did he even reconsidering on _liking_ the Brit. Even his appearance did not even take back his stubborn, arrogant and haughty personality, hell, his eyebrows were out of the question. After a quick moment of spluttering out incoherent and - _no doubt_ \- insulting comments about him and malfunctioning like a haywire computer, the Brit just cut off his ranting with a weary deep breath. He massaged his forehead, still taking deep breathes and noisily exhaling through clenched teeth, he then opened his eyes and had the biggest smile on his face, it was clearly forced.

"Please, let's discuss."

Arthur gestured to the chairs on his right, he motioned Alfred to move it to the front of his desk, who did it with such ease. The tall boy dragged it, deliberately dragging it slowly and the high screeching was surely heard, gritting his ears unpleasantly. The golden boy clearly relishing the inflicted soured and annoyed emotion on his older brother's face, smiling innocently. _What a cheeky boy._

 _Alfred looks eerily similar to mon petit agne._

 _Huh._

 _"_ Ahem." Arthur cleared his throat.

Francis muses on why did the Brit stopped on mid-rant, _it was so unlike of him_.

Before the hostage incident at the convenience store, not a minute after their _not-so-fortunate_ first meeting, the Brit was a total spitfire and full of fiery and witty comebacks, with his lean form was held in a way that was clearly saying -or more accurately _, screaming_ \- with pride. His eyes were full of that dangerous glint, warning everyone not to so in any case touch him. Yet to Francis, it reminded him of a feisty flame that is stubborn and determined enough not to be put out in the face of the most violent of tornadoes. Arthur was a volatile person, whose mood could quickly change in a blink of an eye, it was easy to see his typical English cynical nature, the smugly fitted smirks playing on his lips from time to time said so.

It was not uncommon to meet an English descent in France, or in his case, right in the heart of Paris, he had met many of times. But this particular Englishman interested him, from his arrogant and haughty gaze to his foul biting and witty mouth, it captivated him for some stupid and unknown reasons.

 _For some stupid and unknown reasons._

 _And yet, he does not mind it in the very least._

 _Ha-ha, no._

"Please sit." Arthur said in a polite but clearly strained voice, motioning to the set chairs. Alfred was already bouncing in his seat, humming happily to himself while looking at them in open joy glittering in his eyes that reflected the lightest of skies. Francis patted Mathieu's shoulders, gently motion him to the chair. Crossing the distance to the desk, the cousins sat complying and obedient.

The English professor cleared his throat, "I must speak you about Mathew."

Francis raised an eyebrow, " _Oui_. That's why I'm here, _non_?"

Francis saw at how Arthur bit his lip slightly, the skin reddening slightly. _He's restraining himself._

 _"Yes."_ Arthur gritted his teeth. Mathieu sucked in a breath beside him, elbowing him gently in the stomach, warning him to behave himself.

He questions, "Well?"

"Well," Arthur mimicked, his tone mocking him, "Mathew here," the Brit gestured to the quieter student. "Is failing my class." Francis once again raised an eyebrow, his lips turned into a small sneer, his gaze hardens.

"Are you saying that _mon Mathieu est stupide_?"

The Brit licked his lips, the realization of the poorly choice of words was shown on the thinning of his lips. "No, did I say so?"

Francis strained to say. "But you were implying it."

"No I did not." Arthur said gruffly, "You did not let me finish. You jump into conclusions, Mister Bonnefoi."

Francis felt himself give the Brit an odd smile. "Ahh..? _Je suis désolé_."

Mathieu cleared his throat, Francis felt his form shift uneasily at the thick tension between the two men. While Alfred was staring dreamily at the glass panned windows, his eyes were at the sky and was twiddling his thumbs playfully. Francis eased back into the chair, crossing his legs, fingers drumming his thigh.

"Well? Are you going to finish your sentence, _Monsieur_ Kirkland? As so not to jump to quick conclusions, of course."

Arthur straightened on his seat, hints of a murderous glare were present in his eyes. "Yes. Well I _was_ saying." giving emphasizing on 'was' while pointedly looking at him. "My department demands that in this grade, class participation is a must. We are learning on the elements of poetry, and that requires recitation."

Francis gazed into the absinthe eyes of the Brit, knowing what he is talking. He gave a small and barely noticeable nod, pointing at the children with his eyes, Arthur responded with a twitch on his lips.

Arthur turned to his brother, "Alfred," The said boy turned to him, throwing a disinterested glance at him. "I want you take Mathieu to the cafeteria."

"No." Alfred quirked his lips.

"Alfred..." Arthur hissed threateningly.

"Why?"

"Well, for one, he might be hungry. And don't make any ruckus," Arthur said firmly, then after a quick moment, he added. "and bring me my tea."

Francis rolled on his eyes on that. _Typical_. He received a hard glare from the professor.

"B-but Mr. Kirkl-land, I-i'm not-" Mathieu's protest was cut off by a look by Francis.

"Okay Iggy." Alfred said, boredom colouring his voice, acting like he had drained all his energy. "C'mon Matty." He heard Mathieu sigh, he then met Mathieu's gaze, it clearly said. _Behave or else..._

Once the doors have closed, the Brit releases a long sigh, massaging his head with both of his hands. Francis smirked, leaning back into the chair, crossing legs and folding his arms to cushion his head.

"Were you forced into this, Arthur?"

Arthur looked up at the Frenchman, his eyes flashing. "Don't call me that frog, we are not on first name basis!" He snaps.

"Of course we are, after all, we would be seeing each other in the future." Francis smirked, seeing the Brit's ear tips turn a light shade of red.

Arthur glared at him, "Do NOT go around assuming things! What makes you think that I would go out with you?!"

 _This is too much fun._ Francis internally smiled, he tsked disapprovingly. "My, my, Arthur. I did not mean that way, I meant for Mathieu." He then made a lewd face, internally snickering, "Unless you would want it to be."

"You bloody GIT." Arthur spluttered in rage. "How dare you-"

"But you wanted to talk about Mathieu." Francis cut him off, suddenly serious. "You did not answer my first question."

Arthur looked bewildered, confusion evident on his face, "What question...?" He asked warily.

Francis leaned into the desk, placing his head on his cupped palms. "Were you forced into this?"

Arthur's face flashed different but vivid emotions; confusion, then shock, then bewilderment, then lastly embarrassment. "Wha-? How did you know?"

"You are extremely easy to read." Francis said off-handedly. He was lying, he knew, the Brit was impossible to predict. "Well?"

Arthur admitted, "The principal forced me to tutor Mathieu."

"Why?"

Arthur looked at him, folding his hands on top of the desk, "He forced me to tutor Mathieu, since we can't have him cut off the list."

"List?"

Arthur gazed into his eyes, masked emotions flickered on his eyes. " _The List_. He is one of our top students, in his batch of course. "The Brit blinked, "That must have explained everything." He then smiled mockingly.

Francis smiled a strained smile, his mouth closed and his lower lips were in between his teeth. _How come I am not informed about this...?_ Arthur silently chuckled into his hand, his expression must have looked ridiculous to the Brit.

"Let me guess, you were not briefed into this, Mr. Bonnefoi?" Arthur said, smirking.

Francis held in a breath, gazing into the green eyes of the Brit, his surprised emotion shone clearly in his blue irises. "No." The Brit laughed in his hand, his other hand curled into an eased fist, the milky complexion of the man contrasted with the wooden exterior of his desk, with documents and papers scattered around.

"Well, back to the ' _issue_ '," Arthur leans in to his hand. "My class is mainly oral participation," He then looked at Francis, dead in the eye, lowering his voice for conspiracy. "And we both know that Mathieu is not the loudest poppet." Arthur smiled sadly, "He might be cut off."

Francis nodded tensely, agreeing at the statement, he knows that Mathieu is still withdrawn. Though it has been few years since the death of their parents, Mathieu has not fully recovered from the incident. "Well... If that's the case." He looked at the Brit, "Then, when do we start?"

* * *

Francis was roughly awakened by Mathieu's insistent shoving. Yesterday, after making plans with _monsieur-prissy-brows_ , the cousins went home by roughly five-thirty pm. The two cousins talked about, consisting of Francis' steady streams of begging, and Mathieu's grimacing, but in the end, Mathieu forgave him. Partially.

"Mathieu..." He groaned, his voice husky from sleep.

Mathieu peered on him, frowning. He was already dressed up in a red cardigan, a printed white shirt, and jeans, his hair still slightly dripping wet. "Aren't you going to prepare breakfast?"

Francis huffed and rolled out of bed into the carpeted floor, he got up slowly, dramatically dragging himself downstairs, wearing nothing but a pair of plain red boxers, all rumpled. Going downstairs, he groaned and distastefully moaned at the bright sunlight filtering in from the French windows, still stomping and bemoaning like a child, he never expected to see Alfred there, shouldering his bag. Alfred stood there in a pair of white pants - _to which Francis surely guessed to be muddied by the end of the day_ \- and a white tee with the American flag imprinted. Alfred beamed at the sight of Francis, not really noticing that the Frenchman was practically naked. Francis quietly squeaked in surprise at the presence of the adolescent.

He turned to Mathieu, who was smirking at the top of the stairs. "Why?"

Mathieu leisurely strolled down, his sneakers squeaking at the polished oak. "Well, I tried to warn you..." He said innocently.

Francis snorted, and crossed his arms to cover his bare chest and to get rid of the morning chills the cold February dawn bought. The taller blonde hissed, "I could clearly remember that you didn't- "

Francis was cut off by the front door opening, which was ' _conveniently'_ right before him. It opened to no other than _monsieur-prissy-brows_ himself. Francis, frozen for a long moment out of shock, to him, nudity was not or was never an issue and he had a perfectly sculpted body for everyone to worship on. He could still recall on an incident on his university years that Gil decided to dye all of his clothes green _-yeah, such an original Gil. Your best one yet-_ so that resorted him to only wearing a towel wrapped around his torso to his trip on the laundry mat nearby, not at all minding the hungry and lustful gazes of other students.

But now, he stood frozen at the presence of that cursed little Brit. His cheeks warming up, his hands tightened.

He, Francis Bonnefoi, was _never_ shy.

But why in the world he suddenly be timid?

This is full of _merde_. The stress must be catching up to him. _Oui_ , it must be the stress.

Francis stared at the also frozen and paralysed Brit. His short ashen hair was tousled by the strong gusts, his verdant eyes stared in wide and open shock, his pale cheeks steadily reddening. He could feel Mathieu's smug smirk from his left.

Arthur's green eyes wandered slowly down, but stopped himself. He was beet red, screeching "WHERE IN BLOODY HELL ARE YOUR CLOTHES!?"

 _Alright Bonnefoi, play this cool, play this cool._ Francis then smirked, still crossing his arms, but there was dust of pink on his cheek. "Well, Mathieu here, "He turned to the younger boy, glaring. "Has not said anything about guests."

Arthur's eye twitched in irritation. He looked away, his face still vivid red, "That doesn't mean that you wouldn't put clothing on your form." He hissed angrily.

Francis raised a delicate eyebrow, "Tis my property." He said, his arms tightening around his chest.

Arthur strictly glared into his eyes only, fiery verdant digging into his cadet blue. "Do not ruin the beautiful English language with your atrocious pronunciation and horrid accent." He snapped, he then looked away, crossing his own arms over his chest. "Even though this is your property, it does not give _you_ ," The Brit then again looked him in the eyes. Francis swore that his _stupid_ stomach **_didn't_ ** flipped. "The right to harm any individual," He then smirked haughtily, "Well, in this case. Making people go blind with your preposterous display."

Francis smirked lewdly, nearing the Brit yet there was pink still dusting his cheeks. "Well, I must say..." Arthur rolled his eyes and proceeded to sit at the rustic couch at the living room, his dress shoes echoing with a hint of an angry stomp in each step.

Francis turned to Mathieu who was snickering under his breath, "May I ask." He glared at the boy, "On why on earth is _Monsieur-sourcils_ here?"

Mathieu smirked secretively, then just bounded off to join Alfred, who had gone looking at a painting that Feliciano had gifted his a year before, leaving Francis there at the foot of his stairs, flushed and embarrassed. "You little piece of-" He cut off his sentence with a deep inhale, then climbed upstairs to get dressed. When he got into his bedroom, not even bothering to close the door, which was slightly ajar. Quickly changing into his attire, a blue v-neck and a pair of white pants.

 _Might be as well cooking for four._

About a minute later, he found himself climbing down the stairs. Checking the time, using the wall clock by the hallway wall, seeing it was six-forty-three in the morning, the Frenchman still has a good thirty minutes for preparing breakfast for the kids and the grumpy ass teacher and ten minutes for eating before kicking Mathieu out of the house.

Hurrying his pace, he decided to make _Chausson aux Pommes_ , entering the living room on his way to his beloved kitchen. The boys were sitting beside each other, Mathieu leaning over Alfred, both watching the Nintendo's screen on Alfred hands, noisily and excitedly exclaiming that the game is easy. He saw s _ourcils_ on the couch, fidgeting slightly as he tap away on his laptop, his eyes glued to the screen and was wearing black thick rimmed glasses. Francis stared at the Brit for a moment, just content to watch the stubborn professor, it was a delicate sight. His bangs, covering his face slightly were not the usual ashen shade but it the soft and dainty sunlight brought out the reds and golden hues on his hair, dark rimmed glasses glinting and his eyes was neutral and focused. The sight was making Francis think that the Brit was _beautiful_ \- _angelic_ _even_.

Shaking his head, jogging to his beloved kitchen, silently berating - _or convincing is the better term_ \- himself that the stress was catching up to him, but he had the day off. _Again_. Mr. Yao Wang -a thirty-four year old Chinese man, who had the job of raising six siblings- was concerned for his health, especially after he had burned his third crepes for the day.

After the meal was cooked, his chimed and bounced into the living room. "Breakfast is ready~"

Arthur kept his head down, grumbling something incoherent while Alfred looked up excitedly and released a whoop of joy as he practically ran to the kitchen, a sound of sharp chiding from the Brit, reminding him of etiquette. While Mathieu sighed at the antics, he trudged to the kitchen, grabbing Francis' hand in the process and dragging him to the table.

When Francis entered, Alfred was already seated and was bouncing in his seat.

"Wow Francis, this is delicious!" Alfred moaned in heavenly bliss, his mouth still full of food.

Francis smiled at the display, " _Merci beaucoup_ , Alfred."

While sitting down, Arthur barged into the room, reminding Alfred of etiquette.

"Oh man Iggy, you're so lame." Alfred practically sang, smirking as he added. "And old too."

"Why-YOU...!"

Francis laughed lightly, "Now, now _monsieur sourcils._ " Francis pointed the seat directly in front of his own. "Sit down, and relax. Eat your breakfast." Arthur blushed slightly, tensely and stiffly walking to the table, making Francis laugh at the Brit, who had huffed.

Once they were seated, Alfred was digging into the sweet breakfast pastry like it was the last meal he would ever eat, while Mathieu was eating in a more moderate pace, while Arthur was gingerly poking his food, watching it wearily. Francis laughed again at the Brit, _this professor is too amusing_ , making the professor flustered.

"What are you laughing, frog?" The Brit snapped, glaring at him. _Frog? That's a new one._

" _Mon ami_ ," Francis chuckled, "I am not going to poison you-"

"I am not your ' _ami'_ or anything!" Arthur interrupted.

"Well, _Arthur_." Francis smiled slyly, saying his name sensually, rolling the 'r's. Relishing in Arthur's flinch and annoyance. "As I was saying, before you interrupted." Arthur glared murderously, "I am not going to poison you. If anyone's to poison someone, it would be you."

Arthur stayed silent before processing on what the ' _blasted_ _Frenchman'_ said. He then exploded, "You uncivilized pompous frog! What do you mean by that!?"

"It means what it means." Francis 'innocently' shrugged, enjoying himself immensely.

"That is not an answer!"

Francis sighed exaggeratedly, "You are an Englishman, yes?"

Arthur looked on, still seething. "Well, yes, technically. What does that have to do with any of this-"

Francis continued, as if Arthur was not saying anything. "And that's enough proof that you are a bad cook."

"WHAT!?" Arthur growled, "Listen here you-you..."

Francis smirked, "Yes?"

"YOU FROG!"

Mathieu facepalmed in exasperation, trust it to Francis to infuriate his favorite professor on his favorite subject. Mathieu is quite fond of reading and literature, had read at least twice on the famous literary works of Shakespeare and his most favorite was Romeo and Juliet (which is also Francis' fault, Mathieu got swept away on his talks about destiny, fate, and love. Least to say, he was hopeless romantic.)

And of course, Alfred isn't helping at all. Mathieu's close friend and classmate was chanting in a very enthusiastic manner. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Could we have a simple and normal breakfast?" Mathieu said loudly (surprisingly), his eyes we're shut in an annoyed manner and was gritting his teeth. He then opened his eyes, blushing in embarrassment and smiling nervously. "Please?"

Alfred looked at Mathieu in surprise which had flustered the Canadian-French more in mortification. Arthur blushed, and cleared his throat that made Francis roll his eyes. "Right." The Brit coughed into his hand. "Thank you for inviting us in, Mathieu."

Mathieu, still red in embarrassment, muttered a small ''you're welcome.''

Francis cleared into his throat, looking pointedly at the Brit, who sighed and said in a very clipped and hesitant tone. "And thank you, Mr. Bonnefoi... for preparing breakfast." Arthur blushed slightly and looked away, suddenly interested with the beige wall. "I-it was _deli-_ decent for a frog."

Francis laughed in amusement and stood up from the table, and went away with an "Excuse me." The Frenchman sauntered over to his beloved kitchen and opened the door, letting his little poodle puppy, Juillet into the abode. She was yapping happily as she passed by Mathieu, by the time she passed by Arthur, she froze. She looked up to him in bewilderment. Francis and Mathieu, holding their breaths in, it was a known fact in the household that Juillet was not friendly to strangers, even to Gilbert, it took Gilbert a whole month worths of visiting for Juillet to get used to his presence, and the first time that the two met, she had greeted the albino with a ferocious bite.

Juillet just smelled him, whiffing around his pants, then just barked happily at the Brit and did the same to the younger Jones-Kirkland brother.

Francis heard Mathieu sigh in relief, while he shook his head and returned to his seat. For a while, breakfast was spent in relative silence save for Alfred's noisy scraping of his food and Arthur's sharp but soft chiding. Francis then remembered on to ask on why the Jones-Kirkland brothers were here.

"Arthur," Francis called out in a questioning tone, which made Arthur look up from his plate. "Why are you here?" He then hurriedly added, "Not that the household minds."

"Well, Ms. Héderváry-"

'Wait, Elizaveta?"

"How do you know?" Arthur asked then continued. "Nevermind. Well, she sent me here, gave me your address because she apparently forgot to give me a slip for you to sign. She sent or more like demanded that the slip was to be signed on the morning before classes starts. I don't want to get in her bad side."

Francis' head spun, _Elizaveta? Principal? Two men? This could not end well._

"Being on her bad side is hell, trust me." Francis said seriously, earning a strange look from Arthur.

* * *

The rest of Francis' day was spent on him tidying the house and reading novels. After he ushered the other three to school, with Mathieu carpooling with the Kirkland siblings. While reading some random romance novel he had found out in his tidying up and rummaging, with Juillet's sleeping form by his legs, curled in comfort, he heard a curt knock on the door. He stood up, seeing it was about five-thirty in the afternoon, Mathieu is home by now from his tutoring and Arthur would carpool him home.

He opens the door and sees no other than the Principal herself, Elizaveta. "Elizaveta, _mon ami_ , please come in."

Elizaveta smiled and dust herself off. She entered the house with a spring in her step, then Francis noticed the glinting of a necklace, it was the same Gil had been planing to give. He smiled in satisfaction. "Please sit."

Elizaveta nodded and sat down, leaning her back to the couch, settling herself. "So... How is Arthur?" She smiled slyly.

Francis crossed his legs, "Why are you asking this?" He then added "Hoping for a matchup?"

Elizaveta pouted like a child, "Yes." Not even denying the fact.

Francis rolled his eyes good naturedly, "Then, I notice a bounce in your step today." He asked teasingly, "And look, such a beautiful necklace, where did you get it?"

Elizaveta's reaction was almost immediate, she glared at him and turned red. "Don't you dare, Bonnefoi. I know that you were part of it."

"Part of what?" He feigned innocence.

Elizaveta glared playfully, "Don't play dumb."

Francis laughed, internally cheering for his best friend's success. "Alright, alright." he raised his hands in surrender, instead he asked in a voice that barely contained his excitement. "Did he ask you out?"

Elizaveta went tomato red and smiled shyly, "Finally..."

Francis let out a whoop and hugged Elizaveta out of joy. Francis only saw Elizaveta as a friend, she might be beautiful, with soft almond coloured hair and jade green eyes, but they had been friends ever since they met and might have a small rivalry. Elizaveta hugged back, smiling genuinely.

They let go after a moment, Elizaveta still holding unto his arm. Francis smiled and asked, "When?"

Elizaveta smiled, remembering the memory with fondness. "Just this morning before my recess break.."

The door opened to Mathieu, Alfred, and Arthur.

"Auntie Elizaveta!" Mathieu skipped happily into the abode to hug her, leaving a bewildered Alfred and a blank Arthur.

* * *

 **Translation and Notes:**

 **Mon Mathieu est stupide?- my Mathieu is stupid?**

 **Je suis désolé- I'm sorry**

 **Chausson aux Pommes- This is another classic of French breakfast and it can be found at almost any bakery in France. It is made with a puff pastry crust much like a croissant and a filling akin to applesauce.**

 **Sourcils- eyebrows**

 **China- thirty four years old (I made him that because on his profile, it said that he is 4000 yrs. old but we can't have that, do we?)**

 **Author's Note: Hahaha, hei. I'm sorry. lel, for not updating immediately, since school...yeah.. _plus there's like a terrorist war in just like forty five minutes away.._ Ahem. So the chapter is short compared to others, but its still an update, right? That's it, I think..See you next chapter!**

 **PS: I am a slut for reviews.**

 **Peace out~**


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